


the swallowed truth in your mouth

by GStK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Pirates, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: the necessary arching of your back that i inspire every night.
Relationships: Belial/Sandalphon/Lucifer (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	the swallowed truth in your mouth

**Author's Note:**

> This work features trans physicality. Be safe!

They say rain is the tears of angels from up above.

They say, also, that an angel can dance on the head of a pin.

“You think that angels are inside the raindrops themselves?” Sandalphon asks. Lucifer hears his scepticism, but Sandalphon is kind; Sandalphon is patient. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know the meaning of the word ‘firmament,’ Sandalphon?”

Sandalphon quirks a brow. “It means ‘the heavens.’”

“Angels bring down the firmament from above the blue,” suggests Lucifer. He tilts his head in slow, ponderous thought. “But what I have been thinking lately is that, perhaps… the angels create the blue. If an angel can fit on the head of a pin, they are small enough to exist in raindrops. Perhaps, then, the rain paints the sky blue. Perhaps that is what it means to have the angels come down upon us.”

Sandalphon is quiet for a long time. He’s staring out at the stern of the ship. He might be considering Lucifer’s words. He might, also, be soaking in the warmth from his coffee cup.

The storm out across the sea rocks them to and fro. The waves slam up against every side of them. The captain has been scuttling here and there, left and right, wearing an excited grin that sends shivers down her men’s spines. Rackam has been following in her wake, the typhoon of his curses more metaphorical than the one outside.

Most of the crew on board is, as they say, ‘battening down the hatches.’ They’re throwing ropes and tying down barrels and their trade haul beneath blankets. Lucifer feels the responsible part of his mind try to tug himself out of his seat. He should be helping. There is _much_ he can do to be helping. And yet he is here, with Sandalphon, resting on seats that threaten to slide out from underneath them, lightning cracks dividing their conversation every five minutes.

Sandalphon finally says, “That’s an idealistic way to look at this murky weather.” He looks across, meeting Lucifer’s eye again when Lucifer chuckles. “Did I say something?”

“‘Murky’ is a humourous word to use for this weather. I suppose my view is also amusing.” Lucifer nods his head and clasps his hands together. “How is the coffee?”

“Watery,” Sandalphon mutters. He puts such emotion into the word that it sounds like a scowl in their language. “So -- if you think angels come down in raindrops, do you think they die when they hit the water?”

Smiling, Lucifer replies, “I do not. Do you know of the water cycle, Sandalphon?”

“Of course I do.”

“The angels that bring the firmament to us return back to the world above by the wind.”

Sandalphon considers it. He truly is the most patient, kindest man Lucifer has ever met. Lucifer has not met many men; he has, however, grown his social circle in many magnitudes since he first stepped foot onto this ship. Finally, Sandalphon says, “Wouldn’t that make us part-angel? Everyone has water in them. That’s basic biology.” He points to his stomach. After only a few seconds, his fingers grasp again at the china cup. He does not like the coffee he drinks, but he will not waste it.

His smile turns soft and Sandalphon’s gaze softens too. Then their words and concepts are thrust apart by a great upheaving of the ship. It feels like they have just coasted over a big wave. Sandalphon clutches his cup close to his chest, shoulders bowling over his knees. He gets smashed into Lucifer and the both of them slide into the room’s corner.

Somewhere down the hall, Lucifer hears Djeeta shriek with laughter.

“Are you alright?” Lucifer asks, because he must. He has taken the brunt of the blow. He may not have the hard, calloused body of a veteran seafarer, but he makes a good sandbag, he thinks. He looks over Sandalphon for injuries, pales when he sees dark staining the young man’s shirt --

\-- and Sandalphon clicks his tongue. He pushes out his coffee cup. The stain on his shirt is from the drink, not from blood. Lucifer’s shoulders drop, losing a spot of tension. “Well, there goes that.” He turns his head over his shoulder, looking at Lucifer. There is such little space between them that he can feel Sandalphon’s breath on his face. “Can you ask those angels of yours to be nice? They just ruined my best shirt.”

Lucifer’s mouth turns down at the corners. “I will do my best. After this is over…” Well. The thunder swallows what he wants to say. The partnered white flash comes a few seconds later. After, he murmurs, “You are not hurt, are you?”

Dusting himself off, grimacing at the mess on the front of his shirt, Sandalphon pulls himself out of Lucifer’s lap. Lucifer hangs in that spot, arms still open to accommodate the ghostly weight of a man no longer there. He glances up.

“I’m fine. Go tie yourself down,” Sandalphon suggests. He throws his shirt off and wraps it as a dampener around his china cup. He clutches it to his chest after that. He is strong and lengthy; in the light, he would look like a proper seafarer. “Break time is over.”

Sandalphon understands the extent of his own aches before Lucifer is aware of them. When he stands, the sharp jut of the corner shadows and revives itself in a shock through his knees. He takes a moment to find his sea legs. Sandalphon watches him for the time it takes -- not to belittle him, but to make sure he can recover.

He is so kind. He is so patient. He is everything they said he wouldn’t be.

Lucifer waves him off, and the next undulating, collective body of his firmament-bearing angels holds them to the sea’s mercy.

* * *

A song of lilies, and remorse.

If Sandalphon is anything, then he is destruction and disappointment, all wrapped up into a tight package. He finds his mental state reflected in the morning after, when the bulk of the storm has passed them by. Numerous barrels have fallen overboard. They have not lost any lives--a fact which Lyria keeps murmuring with tears in her eyes--but they have lost countless products. On top of that, they lost most of their coffee.

Sig gives him a hard slap on the back that bends him over. She smiles ruefully at the scowl he exchanges with her. “Quit your moping,” the fisherman advises, her harpoon slung over her shoulders, in a ready state of half-dress. “We lost most of our fish, too. Starving is more important than a caffeine headache.”

Sandalphon observes her, straightening. “You’re going diving?”

“Of course! Our bellies aren’t gonna fill themselves!”

Such is the state of the crew. They are all active, positive people. If misfortune befalls them, they head out to right the wrongs. If they lose their food, then they go diving off the bow of the ship, hunting out schools of fish while the boat awaits their return.

He turns his head. He must do something. And if he will do anything, he’ll-- he’ll. Sandalphon blows out a breath, mind spinning until he decides on his next course of action. He’ll take inventory. No one is going to be down below deck in these salty, humid conditions. No one.

… but there is someone.

Sandalphon pauses, ledger in hand. Lucifer looks up at him, surprise written across his features. Then he smiles, and Sandalphon feels himself growing warm at the collar.

He clears his throat and looks down, staring at the fabric held in Lucifer’s hands. “What’s that?” he asks, squinting, uncertain.

Lucifer unfolds the material and gives him a better look. The blues and yellows of their flag scream boldly from across the room. “The flag,” explains Lucifer, “was torn by the winds. I thought I would sew it back together.”

Feet bring him closer. Sandalphon realises how close he’s come when they’re but three breaths away. He holds the ledger in front of his chest, like a defence, a purpose between him and Lucifer. “You can sew?”

Eyes crinkling with genuine softness, Lucifer nods his head. “I received instruction in the art for many years. It continued until I was near twenty.”

Sandalphon nods, too, and realises he’s unsure how old Lucifer truly is. Lucifer gestures to one of the stools seated nearby. After a heavy internal dialogue, Sandalphon makes himself comfortable. He rolls a barrel into the space between them and cracks it open. This one has gems and jewels. He makes a face when he realises he must pick through every single one.

“Were you schooled?”

Schooled? Schools of fish. Sandalphon raises his head and looks like a fish with its mouth agape. “What?”

Slower, Lucifer repeats, “Did you receive schooling? When you were younger.”

Sandalphon stays quiet and rolls the thought over, just like he does with the ruby spinel in his hands. If he were a rich boy, he’d still be of the age to receive schooling. He’s never been rich and he’s never been a boy, not when he had two other mouths to feed. But--

Take him and divide him in half, like a cake. This part of him is dark with experience, shouting at Lucifer for his ignorance. This part of him is softer, remembering his family, taken in by the patient warmth with which Lucifer regards him.

“I was schooled on the ship,” he says, spacing out the words. The distance between each syllable is so long that a man could take a stride between each. Lucifer looks at him in silent question. He elaborates with a gesture of the ledger. “Numbers and letters. Have you met Arusha yet? She’s the one who taught me.”

Lucifer goes quiet for a moment. He puts his hands atop his head and squeezes his fingers together, miming the triangle shape of an Erune’s ears. Sandalphon smirks at it and nods. Lucifer says, “She was quite upset with the storm. I understand she lost many books because of it.”

“Everyone lost something,” Sandalphon’s voice says dismissively, but there’s a sour note there, and Lucifer picks up on it. He smiles sadly. Sandalphon uses the ledger to fan himself. “But-- yeah. When I came aboard, she taught me the basics. I help keep stock of what we’re shipping. Or what we’ve lost.”

“Have you ever read a book?” asks Lucifer. Sandalphon tosses the spinel into the ‘safe’ pile, marking it off in the ledger.

“I’ve had books read to me, if that’s what you mean…” Sandalphon trails off. It’s evident from the look on Lucifer’s face that that’s not what he was asking. He clears his throat. “No. Not by myself, no.”

Lucifer sounds so sincere when he says, “I’m sorry to hear that.” He seems overcome with the emotion of disappointment. Sandalphon soaks it up too. He feels sorry for himself-- and he never feels sorry for himself. He hates it. He shakes his head. Yet Lucifer isn’t finished. “Should we find the time…”

The air opens up with a maw of expectation. Sandalphon, with a golden bracelet between his fingers, looks up. Lucifer, needle still pierced through the centre of the flag, meets him across the way.

“If we find the time to what?” Sandalphon prompts.

“... I’d like to teach you to read,” finishes Lucifer. He glances away, then down, as if he is embarrassed. As if he is embarrassed! “Only if you wish to. I cannot help much with the affairs of the ship. But it would delight me to see you read, Sandalphon.”

Sandalphon is a seafarer. He’s been on the sea for a long, long time. He knows as many curses as the swarthiest of sailors, and now, they’re rolling through his head, just like he’s rolling the dice and casting them into his own grave.

Of course they come up snake eyes.

“I’d,” he stammers, hating that he does, “Sure. Okay. After we’re back on track. I think-- Arusha might have some books left. You can ask her.”

In counter to his verbal spill, Lucifer nods and answers simply, “I will.”

His smile is so radiant. He’s so bright. He’s so patient. He’s everything Sandalphon said he wouldn’t be enticed by.

Another string of curses runs through his mind and, taking a deep breath, he devotes himself to the task of counting glittering stars.

* * *

He strokes his chin like he’s stroking his nether regions. He sets one black boot atop the conquered stern. One becomes two, and steps become strides, bringing him to the tousle of captives bound hand and foot near the mast. Some of them quiver as he approaches. Others, the interesting ones, toss him fire-and-brimstone glares.

Man, is it stimulating. He almost shudders too. Instead, he gives a toothy grin, taking a knee so he can be eye-level with the _former_ captain of this ship.

“You put up a good fight. It’s been a while since I enjoyed myself. Was it good for you, too?”

It speaks to the captain’s strength of will that she doesn’t spit in his face. Her red hair is an inferno that twists in the wind. It’s an omen of the future to come, of the blaze that will engulf this pretty little boat when they’re through.

“Hey, hey. You don’t like pillow talk? What’s with the cold shoulder, honey?” he asks, reaching out to touch her chin. She yanks her head out of his grip, penetrating him with her icy-blue stare.

“You are going to regret ever touching the _Gods’ Realm_ ,” she says plainly. Behind and across from her, her crewmates are watching the exchange. Maybe they’re expecting him to kill her. Maybe they’re hoping she’ll tear free of her bindings.

But Miss Red and her giant sword have been duly parted. The extraordinary blade has been added to his cache of riches under the deck. Behind _him_ , his men while away, carrying cargo from the starboard of this ship onto the port of his own.

“Is that what you call this thing?” he wonders, clicking the heel of his boot against the floorboards. “You know what they say -- the grander the name, the smaller the package.”

Miss Red -- Alexiel, if you will -- shuts her eyes. Oh, he knows all about her. She and her squabble of merry little men surf the seas, acting as some kind of mercantile protector of trade boats and fishing ferries. She’s tough stuff. He didn’t throw himself at her for her treasure. He attacked her to see what she was made of.

And it was true! He had fun! She settles now, however, as if ready to accept the end.

“Kill me if you must,” she intones. Her voice doesn’t even quaver. “Torture me. Debase me. Inflict upon me the horrors you would unleash on my crew, and set them free.”

Her eyes fly open and she grunts when he seizes her by the neck. He picks her up, impossibly light despite her defined muscles and form. Some of her crew cry out in alarm. Her legs kick out from under her, and under the threat of a closing airway, a peerless captain becomes a squirming little girl.

“Horrors? Horrors… hahaha! You really don’t know what we are, do you?” The thought makes him burst into peals of laughter. He doesn’t stop his squeezing. Alexiel doesn’t stop her writhing.

One of the younger seafarers, a girl of pure blue, cries out in despair. “Please! Please stop!” She leans forward on her hands, bound at the wrists, unable to do more than beg.

Without warning, he drops the captain. She sputters and inhales desperately, collapsed against the mast. He looks at the girl -- Lily. She flinches but continues to meet his gaze. The women of this ship are brave. They’re also full of imagination.

“I hate to spoil our first night together, but.” He sighs and waves his hand at the wrist. “We’re going to burn your ship. You’re going down below, somewhere nice and dark.”

Alexiel is readying herself for another protest. He _tsks_ at her. “I’m not going to feed your crew to the fishes. Relax! You’ll be coming with us. We’ll drop you off at the next port.”

The woman of ocean’s clarity is studying him intently. Europe? Europa. That was her name. He catches her eye. “And no. You won’t have to join us in bed. Not unless you’d like to?”

She stays silent. They all do. This is wise. “No harm, no foul. Just tell all your friends about the tall, dark men you met on the seas.”

“You are deceiving us,” Alexiel spits, hot with rage. “‘Let us off at port? No harm?’ You are pirates!” _We are women_ , she doesn’t say. If they were any other crew, she’d be right. But they’re not just any other crew.

Belial leans in close, so close that his lips brush Alexiel’s with every word. “We are the _Avatar_.”

Alexiel doesn’t recognise the name. She froths with disbelief. “I am the captain of the _Gods’ Realm_. You will do to me whatever you would do to my crew.”

“So flirtatious! I’ll take you up on that offer, darling,” he says. She looks at him with steely resolve. Then, when he flashes her his ring, her brows draw together in confusion. “It’s too bad. If I didn’t have my own ball and chain, maybe we could play--”

Sariel interrupts him, all at once and ghostly. “Captain. We’re finished with the transfer.”

He stands up, wiping himself off. “Then let’s get the ladies in their new quarters, shall we?”

With a shrug, Sariel throws Alexiel over his shoulder. She gives an indignant shriek.

Belial grins at the girls, the women, scared stiff in her wake. “Welcome aboard!”

* * *

“What made you run away?”

By this point, he doesn’t even blink. The answer pours from him automatically. “There were unfortunate circumstances surrounding my family.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Rackam interrupts. Lucifer looks at him; he’s studying Lucifer with his mouth slanted in a frown. “‘Unfortunate circumstances?’ Is that the story you’re telling everyone?”

Rackam, Lucifer knows, isn’t trying to be unkind. He has helped the man with repairs in the deepest parts of the ship’s hull. He knows the man’s irate, cursing storm is a product of his outside, not his inside. He understands the long looks Rackam sends Noa’s way, eyes growing soft around the corners, speaks to his true nature.

“Rackam,” says Sandalphon, dragging Lucifer’s eyes back again. His expression isn’t hard, but his voice has a wick of warning to it. “Don’t press him. Plenty of the crew have their secrets.”

“Sure, but most of them come with a mission statement.” Rackam puts his cigarette out in an ashtray he produces from his pocket. He stubs the tobacco down with force. Sandalphon narrows his eyes at it, and Lucifer knows there was an argument there, once upon a time.

The skies are clear. The Captain’s ordered a unilateral day of rest after the chaos of the storm. A great deal of their cargo had been lost. The greatest fortune, however, was that they suffered no losses of life. Captain Djeeta had declared that with three stomps of her foot.

Today, Sandalphon is behind an oak bar, serving beverages to the wet survivors of yesterday’s weather. He’s wearing an apron that is real dyed cotton. The _Grandcypher_ does not lack for wealth, despite its outward drab appearance.

Lucifer’s eyes trail from the apron up to Sandalphon’s. He realises belatedly that the argument has not resumed over his head. He eases himself back, linking his hands across his knee while he crosses his legs.

“There are certain things I find hard to remember,” he says mildly. Although Rackam has agreed to back off, he still gives a snort of disbelief.

“We rescued you from an island in the middle of a fucking rebellion. You don’t say.”

Sandalphon glares at him again. He slides a cup of coffee Lucifer’s way. Encouragingly, he says, “Did that have something to do with your family, Lucifer?”

He traces the lip of the coffee cup. It has everything to do with his family. Lucifer nods.

“See?” Sandalphon taunts, nudging his chin Rackam’s way. “This is why you let people open up at their own speed.”

“Says you,” grumbles Rackam. He glances at Lucifer. “You see this kid? One day, he comes barrelling out of the sky, running a knife through my sails, screaming about a siege--”

Sandalphon goes scarlet with alarming speed. His hand forms a fist. “Rackam!”

But now Rackam’s grinning. The story spins out from him like a trail of smoke. “He’s got some legs on him, alright? But a whack from Io’s staff knocked him straight out. So then we truss him up, and after he wakes up, he tells us this whole story about how he’s ‘on the run’ or some bullshit. Of course, once Djeeta got to him, he was happy to join our crew…”

With stiff muscles, Sandalphon inhales deep. He seems to force himself to relax. Lucifer’s gaze spins to him again. “I had a debt to repay.”

“Damn right you did. Those were expensive sails. HIGH QUALITY.” Rackam makes the ship his number two priority. Noa, of course, is priority number one.

“... I agreed to labour to repay for the damage I had wrought,” explains Sandalphon, returning to Lucifer. Lucifer smiles at him, and after a moment, Sandalphon smiles too. He looks both wry and nostalgic. “But then the days went by. Weeks went by. Months…”

“And now he’s on his third year with us,” Rackam finishes. He reaches over the counter and pats Sandalphon on the shoulder. The motion shakes Sandalphon’s whole body. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll stick around too, Lucifer.”

With cautious hope, Lucifer murmurs, “That’s what I’d like to do.” He looks at Rackam for but a second and then he’s sharing a meaningful look with Sandalphon. Sandalphon is the first to look away, but he’s still smiling.

“Anyway. If you’re not going to tell us your life story, then tell us your skills,” Rackam probes. “I know Djeeta put you through the ringer, but so far, all you’ve done is follow me around and carry my tools.”

Lucifer’s used to this question, too. Some of the crew, like Io and Noa, look at him and want to be his friend. Others, like Rackam and Arusha, wonder what value he has.

“I’m literate,” he recites. Arusha had been over the moon to hear that. She was even more excited to hear that they had many books in common. His ears still ring with the memory. “I am not unskilled with a sword. I was trained in mounted horseback--”

Rackam motions and cuts him off. “Two out of three ain’t bad. Hopefully you won’t have to use a sword, but things happen on the high seas.” Under his breath, he appears to mutter something about Djeeta and her need for danger. Lucifer doesn’t quite catch it.

“Pirates,” Sandalphon explains. “Though as long as I’ve been with the crew, we haven’t had problems with them.”

“That’s because _you_ were the pirate.”

“I was _not_ a pirate--”

… and they continue to argue. A sea breeze ripples through his coffee and then through him. Lucifer turns towards the open door, gazing out at the great blue. Today, she is kind. Today, she is gentle, and the tales of men overboard and pilfering pirates feel so far away.

He’s miles and leagues away from his own life, and yet. Yet. It doesn’t feel like he’s left it behind at all.

Sandalphon, appearing to feel the tumble in his tension, places his hand over Lucifer’s. He doesn’t miss a beat in his next verbal joust.

Lucifer’s thoughts leave him. With the next sea breeze, he is a simple, empty blue.

He holds Sandalphon’s hand.

* * *

Sandalphon fusses angrily at his hair. When he lifts his elbows from the table, the skin at the edges is a blotchy red, marked with the rough pattern of the cedar. He wants to scream.

Lucifer looks at him with such worried concern that that makes him want to scream, too.

“Shall we take a break?” Lucifer suggests.

“No,” Sandalphon snaps. “No,” he repeats, softer, trying to use his voice to ease the crease between Lucifer’s brows. He sighs when the crease gets harsher. “Is this what it’s supposed to be like?”

Lucifer confesses, “I’m not sure.” He slides the parchment away from Sandalphon and towards himself. He tickles his chin with the end of the quill feather. He smiles, but it’s the smile of a parent looking at his child’s first drawing.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it.”

The hesitation says enough. Sandalphon’s stomach winds up. “It’s terrible,” Lucifer agrees, and oddly, that makes Sandalphon feel a little better.

He leans back as far as his back muscles will allow. His bones give a creak and then the long-awaited, glorious _snap_. Something else in his back pops. He stands up and moves his stool to sit against the wall so he can lean into it. It puts him closer to Lucifer, which activates the itching beneath his skin and the god of butterflies within his stomach.

“How rich do you have to be to be literate?” Sandalphon asks. It’s a curiosity to him, but it comes off as snide. He winces. Lucifer, of course--kind, patient Lucifer--doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Quite rich. My family…” Lucifer’s gaze grows distant. “My family was the richest, most influential family on our island. I was taught to read as soon as I could lift a quill. At the same time, I was taught to use a sword.” He smiles. “Nothing so much as the curved blades some of your crew adopt, however.”

It feels so fragile. It feels like he’s holding a snowflake in his hands. Sandalphon has to say something, yet the right words are falling further and further away from him. “Our crew?” he chances softly, because he can think of nothing better.

“Our crew,” agrees Lucifer. To Sandalphon’s great satisfaction, he sees this as answer enough to continue his story. “Our riches were flaunted in the face of the poor and the needy. We paraded through the streets on horses every year. When the frost settled in, when there were children starving outside, my parents were throwing a ball for the other families to enjoy.”

Lucifer speaks with such quiet hostility. His distaste for his family and their acts is clear enough. Even with the strength of his heart laid on the table, the atmosphere still feels weak, like a glass window in a typhoon.

“Is that why you left?”

He is surprised by Lucifer’s chagrined laugh. He’s heard Lucifer’s delighted laugh, his anxious laugh, his peace-making laugh. But not this. “That would have been a noble reason to flee,” Lucifer says, nodding his head, “But that is not what made me take flight.”

He stretches out his hand, placing it on the table between them. He puts the quill back in its inkwell. After a long stretch of time, Sandalphon places his hand atop Lucifer’s.

“... I left a home too.” Lucifer peeks at him over his lashes. Sandalphon presses on. “I wasn’t proud of the people I knew. The people who I came to be surrounded by. I wasn’t a good person… I’ve never been a good person. I felt trapped. But the thing that made me leave wasn’t anything big. Haha.”

Today’s sky is cloudy, tinged with silver, like an old mother waiting for her son to come home with the day’s catch. Sandalphon scans his eyes over it. When Lucifer is sharing pieces of himself, it feels like the minutes aren’t long enough. When he’s talking about himself, he wants to take it all and shove it under his cot, hidden away.

Placatingly, Lucifer’s fingers curl beneath his own. “You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to.”

Sandalphon cracks a grin. “The same goes for you.”

Their eyes lock. Lucifer smiles too. He doesn’t grin. He never grins. The way his lips curl up more on the left side than the right, however, speaks something to his growing relief. They are two birds of a feather. They are comrades. They are two men who ran away at the wrong moments, with miserable stories to tell.

“I trust you, Sandalphon. You are… despite what you think, you are a very good person.”

The words sink right down into him and ease the scratching all over his skin. A good person. _A good person_. He feels his face grow hot. He knows that those words will bounce around his head for weeks to come.

Clearing his throat, Sandalphon declares, “Tell me more. About your island.”

“Oh? Hm.” Lucifer’s face dims in thought. “What have you heard from the Captain?”

Sandalphon raises a brow. “Nothing, actually. She just said that we were getting a new crew member. That you were new to seafaring, so to be nice to you.”

“Ah…”

Is that embarrassment he sees? Sandalphon grasps that as a moment to remember, too. Lucifer rubs the back of his neck. He would be too honest to ever win at poker.

“My home is called Phidi Island. Once upon a time, our lands were said to have been home to the world serpent. When it erupted from its sleep, it threatened all the life upon the island. Only the interference of the Minstrels helped to quell its violence. Without their help, families such as my own might have perished.”

Sandalphon finds his eyes lolling shut at the idyllic reverberation of Lucifer’s voice. There is more to hear-- and he listens. He listens to it all. He crosses his arms and leans further back into the wall. Lucifer speaks to him, and he hears many things, but nothing more about the reasons for Lucifer’s retreat.

* * *

“Phidi Island. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Sariel lifts his head. He’s busy tracking the crabs prancing their way across the sand. The sun cuts an angle through the palm trees; Sariel steps back, folding himself into the shade.

One by one, the beautiful ladies of the _Gods’ Realm_ step off the boat and onto the safe harbour of the beach.

Izmir: cold as ice; great tits.

Europa: a wistful beauty with a biting tongue, always ready for a good time.

Lily: a young thing, untouchable, paired with a heart of gold that could make you retch.

Maria Theresa: a self-proclaimed queen with an eye for antiques, and more bite than bark.

Pamela: an instrumentalist who played many jigs on their journey; her legs are out of this world.

None of them look like they actually expected to make it. Izmir supports Pamela with an arm as the flutist stumbles, her land legs still a little wanting. Belial drinks in the sight of each of them.

And, of course, there’s Alexiel. She takes a protective step forward, barring Belial from her crew. Even without a blade in her hands, she has a ready, experienced stance, prepared to go toe-to-toe with him.

Belial waves her off with a laugh. “Come on, Alex. I told you. I always keep my promises.”

What’s she got to complain about? Not one of her women were touched or lured into bed by his crew. There were many flirtatious glances and perhaps even some light petting, but it was the girls who started it. Evidently, abduction by pirates is a very compelling kink.

“Where does it end?” Alexiel demands.

“Where does what end?” Belial parrots, adjusting his tricorn, smirking.

“Is this where you slaughter us?” she says. Her voice is strung out like a pearl necklace ready to snap. Belial would like to give her his own pearl necklace. She takes a daring step forward. “Meet me in a fair duel. Or do pirates think themselves above the rules of engagement?”

“Oh, honey. Don’t make me repeat myself. I _love_ repeat performances, but not so much pointless repetition.” Belial crosses his arms. He glances over -- Sariel is playing with the crabs in the sand pools. It’s very cute. “You trade the safety of your girls for yourself! You’ll be joining my crew.”

Alexiel stands there in dead silence. The women behind her seize up. They’re now former seafarers, but none of them should have any trouble finding work in a place like this.

“You mock me,” says Alexiel quietly. Belial sighs.

“Come on, Alex. You agreed to play nice. Or do girls like you think they’re above the rules of engagement?”

She seethes as he shows her his teeth. Their staredown is interrupted by the appearance of one of his men -- three of his men, actually. Lowain bounces up to him, oblivious to the tension in the air.

“Yo! Captain! There’s some crazy shit happening on this island!” he says. Both of his back-up men parrot the same information. Lowain thinks everything is crazy shit, but there’s a current of excitement to his voice that pulls Belial away from the conflict.

“What’s that, Big L?”

“Well, you see--”

Elsam interrupts. “It’s _that_ kinda place! Everything’s burnt to a crisp, man! It’s like a bomb went off around here!”

Tomoi sings pleasantly, “Boom chikka boom boom!”

“Hey! Stop interruptin’ me! This shit’s important!”

Tomoi and Elsam shrink. They echo the same, “Sorry, Boss.”

“Captain,” Lowain intones, “Looks like there’s some crazy-ass chaos here. It ain’t safe for the ladies.”

Alexiel rights herself, standing tall. “My crew can withstand anything. We are the _Gods’ Realm_.”

“ _Were_ the _Gods’ Realm_ ,” Belial supplies. He gets a glare for his efforts.

“Captain, dude. I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Lowain says gruffly. His eyes go to the women. His boys look at the women, too. They are looking at the women.

Alexiel flushes angrily under their attention. She looks about ready to drown them in the sea.

Again, Belial dispels the growing tension with a motion of his arm. “Can you be specific, Big L? You’re giving everyone the chills. And not the good kind.”

Lowain nods enthusiastically. “Looks like some bud got the hell out of dodge and caused a big thing. There were riots. Half the main town’s in shambles, man!”

Sounds interesting. Belial is, as always, a creature guided by interest. “What else?” he pursues.

“These dope motherfuckers wanted to overthrow the pro-- prole--”

“Proletariat, boss!” Tomoi adds helpfully.

“Pro-whatever,” Lowain agrees, stretching his arms out over his head, “And shit got insane. This one rich kid tried to stop everything, but he was rich, so you know.”

“You know?” Belial pokes. The women are getting antsy now. Some of them are murmuring to each other. They look like they want to run.

“From the sounds of it the dude went stupid and got his sister killed. It’s like, dude.”

“Dude,” admits Elsam.

“Dude,” intones Tomoi.

“So everything’s mixed up and the ladies might be in danger. Gotta protect the girls.”

Belial turns back to the former crew of the _Gods’ Realm_ . “What do you think, ladies? Care to go another round with the _Avatar_ until we hit the next harbour? It’s going to be a long, tough ride. But you can handle it.”

Vehemently shaking her head, Alexiel snaps, “We have had enough of you, pirates!”

“So there you have it.” Belial claps his hands together. “Captain’s orders, girls. We’ll miss you. Won’t we, Lowain?”

Lowain has already burst into tears, holding his arm to his eyes. Tomoi and Elsam are hunched over him, shouting words of encouragement and support.

“Sarry?”

Sariel looks up, but his eyes are glassy. His index finger is being held captive by a crab.

“Alex?”

Alexiel sends him a frustrated look. “I have spoken. Leave us be.”

Belial beckons her forward with a hand. She stiffens. Europa places a hand on her shoulder, offering her own silent support. Alexiel sends her friend a small smile, and then she sheds the hand. She steps forward, right past Belial, stomping without fear back onto the deck of the _Avatar_.

“Catch you later, girls,” says Belial, picking up his tricorn, putting it to his chest and bowing his head. He rights himself a moment later. Lily looks appalled; Izmir is disgusted; Europa has that calm look of certainty on her face, as if his doom was spelt out long ago.

He makes a round gesture with his hand and his crew start to pack it in. The island is beautiful from the beach, but otherwise, it sounds unremarkable. Islands everywhere have their rebellions. Rich kids do stupid things. The world goes ‘round.

“By the way, Captain--”

Lowain stops Belial before he boards. The women of the _Gods’ Realm_ have already started down the path to the broken city, steeling their hearts for what’s to come.

“What’s up?”

Lowain leans in to stage-whisper. “You know that rich kid? I heard he escaped on some trader vessel that was just kinda there.”

Belial rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “They’re gone, Big L. You don’t have to scare them any more.” But Lowain shakes his head and continues in a frenzy.

“And they were saying they saw this person who looked like your --”

He holds his ringed hand up to Lowain, silencing him. His spouse.

“Which way were they headed?” Belial says, voice cold and low.

“Uhhhhhh. Tomoi?”

“West!” Tomoi yells. He points east.

“Then we head west.” Belial gives Lowain a nod. He jumps from the bridge to the floor of the _Avatar_ , cupping a hand to his mouth. “All hands on deck! Prepare the sails!”

“Aye aye!” comes the chorus of voices, all except for one.

Belial smiles at Alexiel as she challenges him with her gaze. “Guess what, Alex? We’re going hunting.”

* * *

The sky is clear tonight. The crew, save for the ones on watch -- the ones nursing watered-down alcohol -- the ones steering the boat, Noa and Rackam -- are by and large tucked into their cots. The waves lap leisurely at the bottom of their ship. They rock, to and fro, as if gently being lulled to sleep by the arms of the Seamother. The lantern does not even slide; the water in its basin, however, plods in slow circles.

They’re lucky. Arusha was using a book as a pillow, drooling onto the pages. While Sandalphon went to borrow a book from the chamber library, Lucifer pulled her hair back, closed the tome, settled her head against his balled-up coat.

Sandalphon had visibly winced until they were home free. “Why would you touch her?” he’d demanded in a harsh whisper.

Lucifer had shrugged. “She looked uncomfortable.” And then they’d trudged back to the maps room, and here they are now, cracking open the red book’s spine.

Lucifer smiles when he reads the gold leaf of the title.

“What?” Sandalphon asks, prematurely defensive.

“I know this book,” explains Lucifer. “ _Paradise Lost._ ‘A paradise within thee, happier far.’” His recitation seems to fly over Sandalphon’s head, but kind, patient Sandalphon gives a false nod of understanding, anyway.

“... well?” pries Sandalphon. He shifts nervously on his stool. Lucifer has been looking at him for too long, trying to peel his layers away. Sandalphon’s turning pink under the attention. His smile renewed, Lucifer turns to the very first page.

The epic is a long and arduous journey. The words are written in the non-traditional style, so Sandalphon has no hope of following except by listening to the ebb and flow of Lucifer’s voice. He furrows his brow as if he’s trying to process every word passed between them through the air. Lucifer, for his part, feels his features settle into a growing calm while the swirling mist of nostalgia flows through him.

* * *

_"Lucifer! Stop hiding in the shade!”_

_Lucifer is startled by the feeling of two warm hands on his shoulders. Another two hands settle on his shins. The twins, in perfect sync, give a dramatic_ “Heave-ho!”

_Lucifer’s thrown from his place of solace and into the boiling sun. He lands on his face. He gets sand in his mouth. When he raises his head, he can hear Hal and Mal crowing triumphantly, the distant clap of the two of them high-fiving._

_“Sisters… what are you doing?”_

_Mal puffs out her cheeks at him. Hal gives him the courtesy of an answer. “This is the one day you’re not caught up in sword training, or tutelage, or riding a horse into the woods. Don’t you want to enjoy the beach with your beautiful sisters?”_

_His mouth forms a soft o shape. Then, he spits out a bit of sand. Mal giggles at the sight._

_“I have paid you both a great offence,” he says softly. “I am sor--”_

_Hal comes over to give him a painful clap on the back. He wheezes out the last of the sand in his lungs. “Stop apologising and come play with us. Mal’s been waiting for moons, you know.”_

_Mal takes him by the hand and hauls him up. The two of them have more strength than their lithe bodies suggest. This day, they have the beach to themselves. This day, as brother and sisters, they have private time, a chance to come together such that they have not had since they were twelve._

_They chase him through the water. He passes a ball made of rubber between them, learning for the first time this sport they call_ ‘volleyball.’ _They never stop laughing and they never stop talking. His younger sisters have grown into striking beauties, full of joy, full of knowledge about the island that Lucifer could never come to know._

_Hal’s face turns down in a rare frown when they broach the topic of the people. “They haven’t been happy with us lately.”_

_Mal looks distressed by this, too. “Half of our friends won’t talk to us any more.”_

_Lucifer, hands paused over the sand castle, asks, “Why is that?”_

_“Father’s policies. The island is supposed to be a democracy, but he’s basically running everything at this point. He keeps taxing the people. And the weather’s been so bad… the crops are failing! What does he expect!” Hal stands and kicks a wave of sand into the air._

_Mal meets Lucifer’s eye. “They’re talking about you too, Lucy. They never see you. They say Father’s grooming you to become king of the island. That’s not true, is it?”_

_Lucifer swallows around the knowledge. His classes have taken on a regal tone. One day, his language tutor was gone, replaced by a sharp-faced man who began to teach him in warfare. He’s always asking questions about subterfuge, how to put down an unruly people._

_“... it’s not true, is it?” Mal whispers._

_“I will speak to Father,” Lucifer tells her, not an answer, but the best he can offer. Their father cannot expect to create a monarchy out of nothing. The crops are failing. The people are suffering. He has been blind. Hal and Mal are his only link to the breath of the island._

_Mal’s face takes on a troubled look, but she smiles at him. “I’m sure you can change his mind, Lucy.”_

_“And if you can’t, me and Mal will take care of things.” Hal touches Lucifer’s shoulder. “You’re not alone, Lucifer. Family sticks together.”_

_He stares at the both of them and smiles. He didn’t know that would be the last time he saw them smile._

_He didn’t know subterfuge was real -- that Mal would be pierced through with his blade -- that the howls of Hal’s tears would be enough to start a revolution._

_He was blind. And he was a coward._

* * *

“What did you say?”

Lucifer comes back to himself with a jolt. He has a heart-stopping moment where he wonders if he’s confessed his sins to Sandalphon. Sandalphon, however, is staring at the book, not at him.

“Ah…” He touches the line he last remembers reading. He recites it again. “‘Belial came last, then whom a spirit more lewd / Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love / Vice for it self.’” Belial’s name is the last in a long string of serpents who fell with Satan in the story. He studies the line a second time, finding nothing. “Sandalphon?”

“Belial,” Sandalphon says, without air in his voice. “Belial…”

“... Sandalphon? What is wrong?”

Sandalphon is gnashing his teeth and squeezing his hands into fists. He looks like he might fly into a blind rage. Lucifer feels his muscles shift, ready for a strike… but it doesn’t come. Sandalphon deflates, a fire extinguished, and from the ashes rises a look of anguish.

Even with the weight of his sins on his back, he does not think twice. He slides the book shut and brings Sandalphon into his arms.

“You’re not alone, Sandalphon,” he murmurs, stroking the back of Sandalphon’s hair. Sandalphon begins to shiver in his arms. If it is from sorrow or from rage, he cannot tell. “I am with you.” The same words he once received from Hal, undeserved.

“Belial,” Sandalphon grits out, his voice rough. Then he arches his back, and Lucifer knows the tears have begun to fall.

He doesn’t understand, but -- he tries. Sandalphon is sensitive. Perhaps the story was too vulgar for him. Perhaps it was scary. He whispers all the platitudes he can think of, rubbing his fingers up and down the bumps of Sandalphon’s spine, holding him for as long as the tears last.

Sandalphon emerges from the cocoon of his arms an insurmountable amount of time later. His eyes are rimmed red. When they lock gazes, he gives a fragile laugh.

“How do you feel?” Lucifer asks softly.

“Like an idiot,” answers Sandalphon. Lucifer starts to shake his head, but Sandalphon laughs again. “A big, stupid idiot. Lucifer… Lucifer.” His chest heaves with the weight of the breath he takes. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Sandalphon?”

But Sandalphon is leaning into him, closer, closer, closer until there is no distance at all.

It is not a remarkable kiss. Lucifer is foolish, unsure as to what to do with his lips. There’s a thin layer of snot and tears that have run over Sandalphon’s face. He pushes too much into the kiss, and Lucifer has to lean back to accommodate his weight.

It is, in fact, a terrible kiss. But it is their first kiss, and it makes Sandalphon smile when they part, looking more grounded. He looks certain of the choice he made. Lucifer, distantly, knows he is that choice.

“Sandalphon,” he says, and that is all he needs to say.

Their arms wrap around each other, and they remain that way, long after the candle in the lantern has burnt out.

* * *

Someone’s yelling for the cannons to be mounted. Someone’s shouting for all hands to ready for battle. Someone’s screaming the Captain’s name.

That someone, Sandalphon realises, is him.

The Captain seizes him by the shoulders and gives him an impressive shake-down for someone of her size. “Stop shrieking!” she shrieks at him. “Status report!”

Sandalphon looks at her for all of one second before his eyes return, transfixed, to the large ship coming off of starboard.

“Pirates,” Sandalphon says. His voice is cracked, just like the coffee cup that rolls around on the floor now from when he dropped it. “It’s the _Avatar_.”

The Captain studies him, face frozen in a mask, but she lets only one moment pass before she is in motion again. “All hands!” she cries out to the company of the _Grandcypher_. “To me!”

The confusion subsides when it’s Djeeta calling the shots and not him. Most of the crew hurry onto deck, faces blooming in terror, anticipation, or anger as the Captain debriefs them. All the while, the _Avatar_ grows closer and closer. Sandalphon feels knots forming in his chest.

And then Lucifer is beside him, taking him by the hand. “Sandalphon? What is going on?”

“Lucifer…!” This is perhaps the only time that Sandalphon is not overjoyed to see him. He tries to push Lucifer back into the cabin, but Lucifer remains stock-still, using his height and strength to turn into a brick wall against Sandalphon’s hands. “You shouldn’t be here! It’s--”

“Pirates?” Lucifer repeats, glancing towards the Captain. He has a curious look on his face, different from his normal reserve. “We’re being besieged?”

Sandalphon’s not entirely familiar with the vocabulary, but it sounds right, so he gives a hasty nod. He keeps trying to push Lucifer away, but Lucifer gives him a _look_ , and he is arrested. “Sandalphon. We must help. We are part of the crew.”

“You don’t know what’s going on,” replies Sandalphon in a flurry of panic. “You don’t _understand_. Don’t--”

But Lucifer is already stepping out into the sunlight, meeting the sight of the approaching vessel.

The _Avatar_ is large. It flies a black flag decorated with a spray of white, as if the concept of mercy has been slowly taken over and corrupted. The closer they get, the more visible their armaments become. They have twice the amount of cannons that the _Grandcypher_ does. The sunlight catches the glint of swords raised high above the crew’s head.

The Captain addresses them with a grim, determined face. “They haven’t shot us yet. That’s a good sign.”

Zooey inclines her head. “You are correct. However, we cannot predict what their next actions will be. Practise caution.”

Rackam gives a sharp sigh. “Looks to me like they want to board. That’s the first step towards defeat-- or victory, you know? Keep ‘em on their toes.”

Io jumps up on her feet, pushing herself ahead of the line, standing in front of Lyria like a shield. “We’ll bring it to ‘em! You can count on it!”

The Captain looks satisfied with their unwavering courage. They’ve only minutes before the ropes get thrown and a gangplank is sent across their bow. The Captain turns to Lucifer as he comes to join them. Her eyes, however, flit to Sandalphon in particular.

“Sandalphon,” Djeeta addresses. He draws himself up at the steeliness of her gaze. “Do you know these pirates?”

He wants so dearly to deny it. But how can he? He saw white as soon as he spotted the flag and his yelling solidified the truth. He hides his eyes beneath his bangs, gritting his teeth, curling his hand into itself. “I do.”

“You called them ‘the _Avatar_?’” Lyria recalls. She’s considering Sandalphon with pain in her expression. She has always been too empathetic with him. Always.

“I got -- I don’t -- ugh,” he mutters, shaking his head. All eyes are on him now. “I know the ship. I… know that they won’t hurt you. Not if you listen. But they’re not a force to be reckoned with.”

“You’re sayin’ we should just let them waltz in and take whatever they like?” Rackam sneers.

Sandalphon, frustrated, replies, “No. Let me--” He doesn’t want to do this. He wants to curl up in a ball and cry.

Then, he is surprised by the presence of Lucifer’s hand in his own. He wrenches his head up. Everyone is still waiting for him. They’re counting on him.

Lucifer’s warmth gives him the strength he needs.

“Let me talk to them,” he says in a quiet voice that projects itself across the waves. “I’ve dealt with them before. I can handle this.”

He glances up at Lucifer, who is right by his side. He knows, with the gentle look of determination on Lucifer’s face, that he will remain there. Sandalphon doesn’t want the _Avatar_ to see him -- but he needs him here.

The Captain gives him a long look before she nods. “All hands,” she declares, “be on standby. Do not engage until I say so. Am I clear?”

A rallying cry of “Aye!” sings across the _Grandcypher_. For once, for the first time, Sandalphon feels like he belongs to something.

He turns his face forward, brows drawn downward. The _Avatar_ begins to throw her ropes.

* * *

“There he is,” Sariel says first. He sounds bored. Yet he’s straightened, ever so slightly, planting his feet on the wood and leaning less into his slouch.

“There’s that bastard!” Lowain agrees, with Tomoi and Elsam cheering him on.

Alexiel, unaware of what they’re stepping into, levels her sights on Belial. “What are we doing?” After a pointed, difficult pause, she adds, “Captain.”

Belial flashes his teeth at her. “We’re going to meet my spouse and his new crew.”

“Good grief,” adds in Kou, his umbrella held over his shoulders, his Erune ears perked in interest. “You mean your former spouse, do you not?”

As he is wont to do when there is an argument, Belial flashes the ring on his hand. “Does this look like divorce to you?”

Kou sighs unhappily and pushes his palm against his eye. “You understand that proves nothing.”

“Well,” Belial replies, “Let’s go in and find out.”

Belial himself seems to be the only one having a good time. Practically none of the _Avatar_ want to be here. He’s pushed them hard, made them row and steer while they ate, hardly given them a chance to sleep. They’re upset with him-- he knows. It’s one of those calculated risks you take when you’re in love.

He strides across the gangway with drawling confidence. His black coat flourishes around him, battered by the wind. His tricorn sits lopsided on his head in a very lackadaisical manner. His belts are strung low -- so low, in fact, the curve of his pelvic bones is fully visible. He pops open the only button done up on his white shirt. His pecs stand on open display, dominant and proud.

The crew of the _Grandcypher_ do not look especially pleased to see him, either. He _tsks_ at the reserve in their expressions, throwing his arms wide open. “Hey there! Don’t be strangers. I’m Belial. Captain of the _Avatar_. Let’s all get real friendly.”

His eyes take a stroll of the crew on board. He lingers on most of the women, and some of the younger girls squirm under his gaze. It’s great fun.

The Captain steps forward to meet him. He takes off his tricorn and puts it at his chest. She, in turn, gives him a little curtsy. It makes him laugh. “How sweet! What’s your name, darling?”

“I am Djeeta, Captain of the _Grandcypher_ ,” she replies without fear. “I understand that the _Avatar_ has a reputation of piracy.”

“Oh, do we?” Belial replaces his hat on his head, rubbing at his cheek. “You know what they say about assumptions. There’s an ass, there’s a you, there’s a me. Why don’t we--”

Djeeta holds up a hand, forestalling him. “I understand,” she echoes, “that you are known for setting fire to ships, capturing their crews, and selling them into slavery.”

“None of that has to happen if you just give us what we want,” Belial purrs.

“And what is that?”

“Oh, I’m sure _you know_.”

Djeeta watches him with a hard stare, and then she steps aside. Behind her-- oh. There he is.

Sandalphon. His expression is trite with barely-contained anger. His thighs are as full as ever. Little is left to the imagination under his spandex. And after he’s taken his drink of Sandalphon’s appearance, he looks to his right.

Ah.

“Sandy! Is this your new boyfriend?” Belial asks loudly. Sandalphon winces; then, he braces himself when Belial closes the distance. He seems ready for Belial to take him by the chin, but that’s not what the captain does. He, instead, reaches out and places a hand on the shoulder of the white-haired mystery man. “Tall and handsome. Not very dark, though.”

The rebound fixes Belial with his eyes. He has white pupils, lined by a ring of ice blue. He looks ready to be thrown overboard, or burnt alive, or stabbed, if it would save Sandalphon.

Delightful!

“What do you want, Belial?” Sandalphon grits out.

“Is there something wrong with checking up on your husband? It’s been two years since you split--”

“Three,” Sandalphon corrects quietly.

“Three years. It’s been too long. I’m lonely without you, Sandy. But it looks like you’ve been filling the hole I left with somebody else.”

Sandalphon jerks in disgust. Belial raises his hand and strokes the new boyfriend’s cheek. The new boyfriend looks surprised. He does not, however, look displeased.

“What do you _want_!?” snaps Sandalphon.

“All work and no play makes your Jack a dull boy,” Belial laughs. He leans back, hooking his fingers in his belt. “Here’s the situation, Sandy. You’re outnumbered. My ship is three times as big as the _Grandcypher_. We’re ready to torch your boat and leave your people to drown. If this is all you accomplished in three years -- have to say, I’m quite disappointed.”

The new boyfriend restrains Sandalphon from lunging at him. Belial laughs again.

“Captain,” he says, turning his head to Djeeta. He catches the horrified faces of the crew, feels the anger rippling like a pulse through the floor of the ship. Belial has to restrain a pleased shudder. “I assume you don’t want to go down in a big ball of fire.”

Djeeta keeps looking between him and Sandalphon. “What are your demands?”

“That’s a toughie. Sariel! What do you want?” Belial calls, turning, looking back towards the _Avatar_.

Sariel shrugs.

“Kou?”

Kou, pinching the bridge of his nose, replies, “A peaceful compromise.”

“Alexiel?”

“You’re disgusting,” the girl hisses.

“Big L?”

“Naw, dude. We good,” Lowain says with a wave of his hand.

“Totally good,” Elsam agrees.

“Just hangin’,” says Tomoi.

“Sounds like I’m the only one who wants something here,” Belial surmises. He returns to the faces of the _Grandcypher_.

“Go on,” Djeeta says softly.

“Hmmmm.” Belial strokes his chin. Sandalphon is stiff, taking a step forward, ready to offer himself up. He thinks he knows what Belial wants. But three years will change a man’s kinks.

He extends his index finger and points at -- not Sandalphon -- but the new boyfriend. Mr. White and Handsome raises his brows in surprise. “I want him.”

“Belial!” Sandalphon growls.

“What do you mean?” Djeeta questions.

“Give me my husband’s new lover, and I’ll let your boat go, no questions asked.”

Sandalphon is physically shaking with his rage. The Captain Djeeta seems unsure of how to answer. There’s a serious, deliberating expression on her face.

Then all bubbling conflict is broken when the new boyfriend steps forward. He fixes Belial with a show of understanding and nods his head.

Belial strokes his chin again, wondering flirtatiously, “What’s your name, Lover?”

“Lucifer.”

“Lucifer… you know, there’s a poem about the angel Lucifer. _Paradise Lost_. Have you ever read it?”

Belial slings his arm over Lucifer’s shoulders, and Lucifer glances back at the crew of the _Grandcypher_. He says, “Thank you for everything.” He murmurs something to Sandalphon, but it is lost to the sound of the surf.

The gangplank withdraws when Belial and Lucifer are aboard the _Avatar_. The ropes come away. The ships begin to drift apart.

The crew of the _Grandcypher_ stands absolutely still, unable to shatter the feeling of loss that has just encroached upon them.

Sandalphon breaks it when he rushes to the guard rail. “Belial!” he screams. “BELIAL!”

Djeeta knows, in that moment, that Sandalphon will not allow for this.

Sandalphon twists his mouth, consumed by his rage.

And when Sandalphon rounds on the crew, ready to spew fire and blame them?

Djeeta grabs him.

When he howls and hurls insults at everyone, displaying the depths of fire and feeling that have been born since Lucifer took his first step on the ship?

Djeeta holds him.

When he grows silent and the hurt locks itself back inside his chest, and the crew disperse, and a voice like Lucifer’s blames him in his head?

Djeeta doesn’t let him go.

* * *

The tenets of piracy seem to revolve around two principles:

Every beautiful woman is a steal, and every crew is a family.

The difference between Alexiel and himself is that he stepped foot on this boat willingly. She’s done nothing but give him hard, understanding looks ever since. She’d seen, in a glance, what he had chosen to leave behind. The difference between himself and Alexiel is that she gave her life to see her family have a chance at freedom and safety, and he --

… he cannot confess to hate Captain Belial as much as she does.

“And now that you’ve gone and shown you’re not going to stab anybody, here’s your room.” Belial throws the cabin door open and strolls in like he owns the place. Lucifer has to admit that he does.

Much like the rest of the ship, the cabin resembles something from a well-to-do passenger boat, not a pirate freighter. It’s already been decorated. All the furniture is dark wood, bolted down so it won’t slide in a storm. Lucifer touches the nightstand and the lantern atop it, feels the new candle inside. He looks to the wall and finds a painting that reminds him oh-so-suddenly of home.

“Nice work, ain’t it?” remarks Belial, leaning himself against the gilded frame. The painting is an artist’s rendition of the Minstrels’ battle against Midgardsomr. “ _The Song of Culling_ . Depending on the room it’s in, though, you could say it’s _The Song of Cumming_.”

“‘Coming…’” muses Lucifer. “I see.”

Belial’s face splits with a grin. He continues to stroll around the room, acting as if he is Lucifer’s visual guide. There’s curtains above the porthole. He draws them back to show the frothing waves, dipping up, out of sight, then coming back down again. There’s the smallest view of the blue sky when that happens. “Does it agree with you, Lucy?”

“It does. However…”

“What’s up?” Belial throws himself into a red, plush chair. Isn’t that sort of material only meant for use on land? Lucifer’s eyes glaze as he ponders the question; Belial, not unkindly, snaps his fingers a few times. “Earth to Lucy.”

“Ah. Must you use that name for me?”

“‘Lucy?’ What. You don’t like it?”

Lucifer shakes his head. A wince overcomes his features. Belial studies it for a moment, and then he leans forward in the chair.

“Have a seat,” he says, indicating the bed. The sheets are fresh, white linen. The bed dips underneath Lucifer’s weight. “This isn’t because Sandy was calling you that when you were hooking up, is it?”

“... no.” The wound is still too fresh, but it’s a different kind of wound. It’s a sin he couldn’t confess to Sandalphon’s kind, patient heart. But Belial smirks while he waits for Lucifer to elaborate. Someone like Belial, a pirate who steals and threatens-- he must have sins aplenty. He must have the blackest heart this side of the ocean. Lucifer swallows.

Belial pokes at him. He doesn’t seem like he’s content to sit with silence. “What’s got your goat, Lucy? Don’t tell me it makes you feel like a _girl_.”

Again, Lucifer shakes his head. He’s not a fidgeter, but in nervous habit, he touches the pads of his fingers together, templing his hands. “My sisters used to call me that,” he confesses.

“Ah. I can respect that.” Belial sits back in the chair again. His shirt is still unbuttoned. (On closer inspection, it’s a new shirt. It _has_ been a day since they stuck Lucifer down in the hull. He’s just chosen to unbutton this shirt, too.) “You might not think pirates respect anything, but we never poke at someone’s old life. That’s one of our rules.”

Here is the freedom of judgement he had been so afraid of incurring on the _Grandcypher_. It was not because they were unkind people; it was precisely because they were kind. There is a sense of nakedness, being with pirates, being with Belial. Lucifer knows he must have done terrible things, must have an equally terrible past.

It makes the words spill out of him. The fountain has been opened, and the handle has come flying off. “There was a rebellion against the rich families. On my island,” he explains. Though he feels rushed, every word comes out with the rigid, practised pacing his etiquette tutor drilled into him. “I belonged to one of those families. The people were in need, but we would not reach out our hands to help them. The pressure was building for change. And I… I was short-sighted.”

Belial gives him an encouraging nod. “About what?”

Lucifer closes his eyes. “The way heartlessness can inspire heartlessness in kind. One of my swords was stolen from my home. Just a week later, it was used to kill my sister. There were those who believed it was not my fault. There were those who did, but it was the spark to light the long-building kindle. The rebellion broke out.”

Humming quietly, Belial asks one more question: “And whose fault was it?”

“The fault was mine, five times over. For not helping the people. For not keeping my weapons safe. For not keeping my sister safe. For fleeing when the carnage began.”

“That’s heavy stuff. But you know what?”

Lucifer cracks open his eyes. He wonders if he’ll be hurled off the side of the ship for cowardice. “What, Captain?”

“When I think about it, I like the name ‘Cifer’ more than ‘Lucy.’ Sounds like you’re a cypher. A puzzle to solve. What do you say?”

He looks up and Belial is smiling at him. The freedom of judgement remains.

“I fled my responsibilities,” he says plainly. “I fell in love with your husband.”

Belial shrugs and steps out of the chair. He comes up to Lucifer, such that Lucifer has to crane his neck to look up at him. “When you step on my boat, when you become a part of my crew, you’re a different man. And you’re cute. I can see why Sandy likes you.”

Lucifer blinks, overwhelmed by the lack of everything he was expecting. Belial waits for him to recover, hand on his hip.

“I don’t mind being alone with you in a room, but shall we continue the tour?”

Lucifer nods. He clambers to his feet, but doesn’t quite follow Belial to the cabin’s exit. Belial glances over his shoulder at him, one hand on the knob.

“Captain.”

“Ooookay.”

“... I would also prefer the address of ‘Cifer,’” Lucifer utters.

Belial grins.

“You got it, baby.”

* * *

When mothers want to scare their boys off from ambitions of seafaring life, they tell them the stories of pirates.

Pirates, according to the legends, are born evil. Sometimes they aren’t even born at all: sometimes, they simply manifest, from a tear in the eye of the moon or from a lightning crack during a storm. Pirates are evil. Pirates destroy. They claim all of the seadoms as their territory, and should you ever meet one in the waters, you won’t live to tell the tale.

Contrary to popular belief, Belial and Sariel were not born from the gaping maw of hell.

Belial forgets the name of the island they came from. It had a couple people. It had a couple villages. Neither of them had guardians who cared enough to stick around. The village people had too much to do on their own, so he and Sarry scraped food together from odd jobs. Once in a while, it was enough.

Then some other boy washed ashore and the village heaved a collective sigh. Now, they had three orphan brats.

“It’s a girl,” Sariel had reflected tonelessly, the two of them crowded around the orphan’s cot in the shaman’s house. She flashed her teeth at them in warning.

“How can you tell?” asked Belial, poking at the brat’s bandages, rewarded with an opening of fire eyes and a glare that could kill.

“I,” Sandalphon said, “am a boy.”

“Oh,” Sariel answered. Then the shaman kicked him and Belial out.

And that was that.

Three mouths aren’t better than one. Thankfully, people actually _liked_ Sandalphon. Where they cast Belial and Sariel out as gremlins, they took the new community member with trust and smiles. It helped that Sandalphon looked cute. It helped, too, that Sandalphon could spirit away fruits into his shirt, returning with five instead of four.

They filled out. Sariel started to grow. His hunch was congenital -- can’t help bone structures. But he grew, and he grew, just like a palm tree in the height of summer.

Belial found he had muscles. The village girls would look at him twice when he walked by.

Except Sandalphon wouldn’t look at all. He was always gazing out over the ocean, letting the tide soak his toes and get sand in the gaps between.

They were twelve, fourteen, sixteen, seventeen. Sandalphon kept looking at the sea like he was in love with it.

He barely stirred when Belial came to embrace him from behind, wrapping arms around Sandalphon’s torso. He felt up and down Sandalphon’s flat chest. They’d all saved together for a season to buy that binding shirt when the trade ship came to town. It made him feel good.

Sandalphon made him feel good.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he purred against that tan column of neck. Sandalphon’s form rose and fell with a sigh.

“I want to leave.”

“Not alone, I hope,” chuckled Belial.

Then Sandalphon looked at him. The eyes were crimson in the fading sun. “On the island I was born,” he said, “they say that if you catch the sunset at the right time, you can see it turn green.”

Belial made a thoughtful noise. “A green sunset. What about it?”

“If you’re there when it happens, any wish you make will come true.”

“So did you ever see it?”

Sandalphon nodded in his arms. “Just once.”

“So what did you wish for?”

“I wished…” Sandalphon swallowed. “I wished to leave the place I was born and go to an island where I’d… I’d meet the love of my life.”

Belial grinned. “So you got caught in a storm and ended up here. But Fate wasn’t kind enough to bring you some hunk to bump uglies with, so you want to take off again. Is that right?”

Sandalphon grimaced. “No. I already found him. Now I want to see the world. With him.”

Turning fully around in his embrace, Sandalphon met him, eye-to-eye. The sunset glistening over his shoulder was pink, purple, maroon, but not green.

“Sorry to say this,” Belial said, and Sandalphon gave a sharp inhale, “But Sarry’s first and only love is his ants. I don’t think he feels the same way.”

Sandalphon slapped him. Belial laughed. Then Sandalphon took him by the chin and kissed him-- Once. Twice. Four times.

They rolled around in the sand until dusk made itself known. When they limped back to their small shack, Sariel looked up, unsurprised as ever.

“I found a beetle today,” he announced, and this was the news that took precedence.

Belial stole the rings from the next trader to dock. Sariel had Mr. Carapace, ordained by the Holy Order of Kabuto, preside over their wedding.

Sandalphon had Belial quite literally over a barrel for their wedding night. His fingers made good acquaintance with Belial’s insides and tore all sorts of nasty sounds out of his throat. Sandalphon, similarly, mewled and gasped with delight when Belial slid into him from behind, touching himself with great enthusiasm.

“We could never afford a boat of our own,” Sandalphon said a month later, face tight with unnamed emotion.

Sariel replied, “I don’t… want to work on someone else’s boat. They won’t take care of the insects.”

Belial clapped his hands together with feeling. “Then we steal the next boat that comes along.”

Sandalphon looked at him like he was stupid. It was a familiar look. “They would outnumber us. We would be executed.”

Belial clicked his tongue, and said, very patiently, “Then we steal a small boat. And then after that, we steal a bigger boat. Do you see? It’s boats all the way up.”

“Then we’ll be serial pirates,” Sandalphon argued, “and then we’d still be executed.”

“How many ants could a big boat hold?” Sariel wondered in between.

“A lot, Sarry. A whole lot. Sandy--”

“Don’t you ‘Sandy’ me--”

“Is it the stealing part?” Belial prodded. “Or the dying part?”

“The dying part!” Sandalphon yelled. Sariel quailed, just slightly. Belial gave him a comforting pat on the back.

“Then we don’t die. It’s that simple.”

Sandalphon looked as sceptical as ever. Belial’s grin reigned supreme. Sandalphon cursed and left the shack in a huff. Sariel went to feed his tarantulas, and Belial was enlisted in his help.

A week later, they stole a fishing boat.

Two weeks later, they stole a houseboat.

A month later, a small jeweller’s cargo ship.

And a year later, a bottle of champagne was broken against the prow of the newly-christened _Avatar_ , its former crew sent off with life preservers and hoots of encouragement.

“Don’t patronise them,” Sandalphon instructed. He looked troubled when Belial swept him up in his arms, dressed in the old captain’s coat and tricorn.

“Oh, come on. They were pirates, Sandy. Murderers. Did you see how many people they had in the hull?”

Most of the people they freed gave a token thanks and crowded onto the cargo ship the trio had just abandoned. A couple others stayed behind to be their new crew. There were these three brothers -- Lowain? or something -- Kou, Olivia…

Sandalphon shook his head. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it, darling?” Belial asked, fixing his hair.

Sandalphon was quiet, and then he spoke. “I think I might be happy.”

And Belial grinned, tipped head over heels, and kissed him square on the mouth.

* * *

“And then what?”

Sandalphon shifts uncomfortably on the cot. He’s surrounded on all sides. The Captain is the one asking the questions, but they’re all shining in the eyes of the people around him. He’s omitted certain things in the exposition -- the wedding night, the confession, all the kisses shared between Point A and B -- but it doesn’t _explain_ anything. They want reasons. He wants to be able to give them reasons.

But sometimes you’re just a stupid boy who got shipwrecked because of a monkey’s paw of a wish. Sometimes you’re a pirate for no other reason than your own wanderlust.

“And then what happened?” The Captain repeats, placing a hand on Sandalphon’s knee.

“The _Avatar_ is one of the most infamous pirate ships this side of the ocean,” Arusha supplies, always a font of knowledge. Her brows are drawn together in consideration. “They cut through many seadoms. But--”

“Pirates are pirates,” Rackam says, as if that is the only takeaway from this point. “And your friends have just gone and stolen one of our crew!”

Sandalphon turns his head down, conceding the point. It lets his bangs fall over his eyes and hide the disgust roiling there. Lucifer wasn’t _stolen_ . He chose to give himself in exchange for the safety of the _Grandcypher_. It’s just so that Belial would cruise back into his life and rip his heart out.

He had, after all, done the very same to Belial.

The Captain’s fingers curl against his knee. So Sandalphon makes a sound through his teeth and begins the tale of the end.

* * *

_“What’s got you in a bad mood?”_

_Belial had followed Sandalphon from the mess hall. The sounds of exultation and celebration echoed from within the ship, refusing to let go of him, even now. The ocean was silent, the sky a deep purple. The stars were beginning to peek out from behind the clouds._

_“Who says I’m in a mood?” Sandalphon snarled back._

_“You’re certainly not in the mood to tangle,” Belial observed. As always, he ignored the signs of danger radiating off of Sandalphon, coming to stand beside him over starboard’s edge. He tried to put a hand on Sandalphon’s waist, but it was quickly smacked away. “See what I mean?”_

_“We shouldn’t be celebrating.”_

_“‘We,’ or ‘they?’ Sarry never even came up. He’s still down there with the giant prawns.” Belial tapped the sole of his boot against the wood planks._

_“Anyone!” Sandalphon snapped. He whirled on Belial with rage in his eyes -- and, seeing the soft expression on his husband’s face, his anger was ripped in half. Something revolting began to rise in his stomach, like bile, except it made the whole of him feel dirty. “Don’t you care about what we did today?”_

_“We’re pirates, Sandy.”_

_Sandalphon raised a fist and punched it into the centre of Belial’s chest. Belial studied him with a raised brow._

_“We set fire and destroyed the lives of dozens of families,” Sandalphon corrected. “All because of what they were carrying. We were never supposed to do this, Belial. This isn’t what I wanted.”_

_“So stealing and pillaging is all fine and good until we make some little girl cry?”_

_Sandalphon bared his teeth. “That’s not what I mean.”_

_Belial touched him again, taking Sandalphon in his arms. The gesture, usually so comfortable, only made him feel trapped. “That’s exactly what you mean, Sandy. We’ve been doing this for years. It didn’t start today. It started when you stole fruit from the village merchants.”_

_“I was just trying to help us survive!”_

_“Survival of the fittest, love,” Belial said, and though he should’ve stopped, he didn’t. He didn’t stop. “Everything you’ve ever stolen has been taking from someone else. The ship we burned today? It carried families who would’ve destroyed lives. Did you see those boxes we threw out into the ocean?”_

_Furrowing his brow, Sandalphon murmured, “Yes.”_

_Belial sighed into the cold air. It was not yet cold enough for his breath to condense. “Stardust Scoop. Kilograms of the stuff. It’s one of the new drugs circulating the Phantagrande seadom. Merchants are trying to spread it throughout the world. It makes addicts out of parents.”_

_Sandalphon didn’t know what to say. Belial could have been lying. He was good at lying._

_“Did you know? Sarry’s parents were addicts. I don’t know what stuff they were on, but it doesn’t matter. They left him.”_

_Belial was a liar, but he had never talked about his past, or Sariel’s. Sandalphon’s expression opened up, and he peered into Belial’s eyes. “What about your parents?”_

_Smirking, Belial shrugged his shoulders. “I was the spawn of the devil. I was always destined for a life of sin. But isn’t it stylish?”_

_And then Sandalphon was mired in the annoyance again. “What are you talking about?” The fire inside him had yet to be quelled. He reached a hand into it and shouted, “Why do you hide from me? Why do you think this is okay?!”_

_Belial chuckled. It wouldn’t have been right to say that that broke him. But it was beginning to warp the edges of their marriage, like the success of their foul deeds had done. People escaped today. But there were people dead, too. And more people were going to die in the future, unless they stopped._

_His husband--his lover--the dark star of his life didn’t want to stop._

_“If we clean up our act, what do you think is going to happen to us, Sandy?” he asked. He held up a hand to forestall the answer. “Say we stop hurting people. Say we only steal from the rich, or we go by whatever rules you have in your head. Would that make us good people? Would that make us any less of the pirates than we are now?”_

_“No, but it could--”_

_“We can’t atone for anything we’ve done,” Belial sighed. He had a look of melancholy on his face, and he looked aft, somewhere far across the horizon. “Sin is a lie. There’s no old lady in the sky who’s going to take care of you after you rot. I love you, Sandalphon, but your guilt complex is even bigger than my dick.”_

_Sandalphon backhanded him across the face. With the diamond ring on his finger, he cut a sharp gash across the bridge of Belial’s nose. His expression crumpled into horror as he saw the damage he had wrought -- and in a fit of frustration, he discarded his ring, throwing it out into the sea._

_Belial frowned. “You didn’t have to go and do_ that _.”_

_“I’m leaving,” Sandalphon announced. He drew his knife and held it, shakily, across Belial’s neck. The threat was a ghost but Belial stilled himself all the same. “I’m taking one of the lifeboats. I’m going east. You’re going to turn the ship around and go west. And I’m never going to see you again.”_

_Slowly, Belial looked past him to the place where Sandalphon had hurled his ring. “You don’t love me, huh?”_

_“I love you so much,” Sandalphon growled, “that I can’t_ fucking do this any more _. The lying, the fires, the stealing-- I’m done! I’m done! And we’re done.”_

_“Okay,” was all Belial said. “Ooookay.”_

_And he’d let Sandalphon go. Just like that. Sandalphon rowed and let the ocean carry him where it pleased. It was incredibly short-sighted of him, actually, in that he ran out of water just three days later. He thought he was going to die in the middle of nowhere. Then, a trade ship had come along--_

* * *

“And you _tore my sail_ ,” Rackam intones. “And called yourself a pirate. Because you were going to hold us hostage for our water. Except we had guns.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt anyone,” Sandalphon says defensively. But the story, out of him and in the open, has him feeling fragile. The Captain has eased up, looking at him with troubled eyes. “But now… Captain. Please.”

She smiles. “You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

Sandalphon takes his hand in hers. Her fingers are delicate. She laughs, and Lyria looks between them, unsure. “Umm. What’s going on?”

“Rackam, Noa?” the Captain calls.

“Yes?” they both answer.

“Get us heading westward. Io, prepare Sandalphon a little boat.”

“Aye-aye!”

Lyria looks around in growing panic. “What? What?”

“I’m not letting you endanger my men,” the Captain warns. Sandalphon smiles back at her. “We’ll put you within half a league of them. No more.”

He nods. “That’s close enough.”

“If Lucifer wants to come back, we’ll be waiting to hear from you at Zinkenstill Island. Send a pigeon. But you give him exactly what he wants. Understand?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Djeeta looks askance. “Rackam? How long will it take us to catch up?”

Rackam’s running his hand through his hair and grumbling. Noa looks excited at the prospect of adventure. “Three days, tops. This is stupid, by the way.”

“Then, by the power vested in me as Captain of the _Grandcypher_ \-- in three days’ time, Sandalphon, you are hereby relieved of your responsibilities and membership to the crew.”

The handful of crew still there move around quickly to get started. Djeeta clomps out, laughing as she goes. Then it’s just Sandalphon and Lyria.

He’s consumed by his thoughts until she cries, “What’s going on!”

Sandalphon observes her, just as angry as she is worried, nearly in tears. He reaches out and brushes a thumb against her cheek, wiping the first one away.

“I’m going to make things right.”

* * *

Lucifer’s still touching his lips when Alexiel comes to sit beside him.

Without so much as a ‘hello,’ she launches into the heart of matters. “He kissed you.”

“He kissed me,” Lucifer echoes.

Alexiel looks neither pleased nor displeased by this state of affairs. Lucifer tears his eyes away from the wood wall opposite to glance at her. He would like very much to be in her shoes: sure of herself, certain of her own feelings.

They have become something like friends in these past few weeks. Truthfully, everyone aboard the _Avatar_ has been friendly to him, even overtly so, in the case of the Lowain brothers. There is something, however, to be said about the kinship of two people who have given themselves up to save their families.

Lucifer pauses before he catches up with that thought. No, he muses. He supposes that the _Grandcypher_ is not his family. Not any more.

“When he had my crew and I at his mercy,” Alexiel says, gritting her teeth to show her distaste at the memory, “He did nothing to us. And since I have been on this ship, he, nor any other man, have done a thing to me.” She folds her legs together and places her hands upon her knees. She shoots him a glance. “He is married. Were you aware?”

“... in the course of things,” Lucifer manages to say, “I was made aware.”

She has not turned her gaze from him. “Captives we may be, but there is nothing forcing you to labour his affections. I understand you were taken from your lover as well.”

Lucifer inclines his head. This, too, is true.

“We may never see the people we love again,” Alexiel says, “but that means we must all the moreso remain steadfast.” She touches her breast. Lucifer grows uncomfortable in the resulting silence, but he comes to feel that this speech is not simply for his benefit.

Were he in his right state, he would ask her about those she had lost. Alexiel, he thinks, would tell her about her crew. She would hesitate, and then she would dip her voice low as she began to describe her own lover. They would collude together with their experiences of seafaring life, and she would arch a brow, question him for leaving the safety of land with no formal training as a seafarer.

He can see it in his mind’s eye. But Lucifer isn’t in the right way. The kiss continues to reverberate through him, and so they sit in silence.

\-- Belial had come to his cabin to talk to him.

\-- Belial had folded his hands while Lucifer described, smiling, his short time with Sandalphon.

\-- Belial had made some query about the physical nature of their relationship. He mimed a hand gesture and laughed when Lucifer quickly shook his head.

\-- Belial had asked, “Have you even kissed?”, like it was an open question, the _yet_ ringing in the air.

\-- Lucifer had said, “Of course we have.” 

\-- Belial had strode over, closed the distance between chair and bed, held Lucifer’s face in his hands. “Did you like it?”

\-- Lucifer had said, “I liked it very much,” and wondered if he were going to be struck.

Belial kissed him.

His chest is rising and falling with breath, but so too with emotion. So, too, does he feel the rocking of the boat, idly cresting through the sea. Belial has listened to him for many hours. He has not been a friend, not in the way Alexiel has. He has heard all of Lucifer’s shortcomings, his grief, his sins, and he has said simply:

“ _Sin is a lie_.”

The red eyes that meet his own don’t shine with innocent joy like Sandalphon’s do, but they spark an electric current running through him. There’s understanding there. Lucifer and Belial are both bad people, but… Belial provides his crew a home. When he ‘liberates’ crews of their ships, he minimises death and destruction. The worst injury he’s ever inflicted is giving Alexiel a hearty slap on the rear.

She nearly eviscerated him, so the debt was evened out very quickly.

They sit in silence and the feelings wrap around Lucifer. Belial is married -- Belial is a pirate -- Belial sets fire to ships -- Lucifer is in love with Sandalphon. _But_.

As if sensing the chaos inside of him, Alexiel parts her lips. “He will lie to you. Do not ever think that he likes you. That man only sees pawns in his game.”

… but it doesn’t ring true. Belial had smiled at him, winked at him after the kiss, but there was a moment immediately after where they stood together, two men plainly attracted to the other.

“I am not a good man either,” Lucifer says quietly.

Alexiel harrumphs. “No one can be so terrible as that walking mess of sin. My mentor was not quite fond of clothing either, but to put himself on display like that is insulting. It’s a show for wandering eyes, not to demonstrate his battle prowess.”

… but. Belial has corded arms. He exercises daily. The Lowain brothers join him, and sometimes, Lucifer as well. There are days where they work up a sweat in companionable silence. There have been other days where Lucifer holds his feet as Belial performs his sit-ups, and they talk philosophical works in between bursts of breath.

Sandalphon is patient and kind. Sandalphon is beautiful, needing so desperately for someone to tell him that he was enough. Lucifer was overjoyed to fill that role of protector for him. Yet there is attraction, too, in being met blow-for-blow, not to feel guilt for his upbringing when he can argue against the will of the majority and receive an answer back about the efficacy of utilitarianism.

“Be mindful,” Alexiel cautions him, shutting her eyes to the silence. “He will never release us. More than likely he will continue to collect others as prizes for his collections. We are prizes, Lucifer. We ceased our role as people once we walked aboard the _Avatar_.”

Lucifer’s opening his mouth to disagree. He’s surprised that he’s about to disagree, to argue for Belial’s humanity. He’s surprised that the tumult of emotion inside of him is starting to give way. He begins to feel certain. He’s surprised that he’s surprised, too. Hasn’t the answer been obvious? It did not start with the kiss, but the idea was sped along.

He’s opening his mouth to disagree, and then there’s a disturbance, a thunder of many feet over their head.

“Yo!” Tomoi calls at them. “We’ve got, like, an intruder!” And then he scampers along.

Alexiel comes to her feet and offers Lucifer a hand. She shrugs with one of her shoulders. “Let us see what this ‘intruder’ has come to do.”

Despite himself, his heart flutters.

* * *

“Hey,” Sariel says when he climbs aboard the ship.

Sandalphon looks at him, dumbstruck. Sariel waits patiently. He says back, “H-hey,” as if he has not just come to conduct a raid and takeover of the ship.

“Yoooo, it’s S to the andy! How’s it going!”

Lowain and Elsam are quickly approaching. He sees Olivia hanging in the background, flipping her hair, eyes glittering in that way that means _glad to see you’re alive_.

This was not what he had planned.

“Wait,” he says, vainly, when Elsam and Lowain both pick him up. They’re joined by Tomoi some moments later-- Tomoi, who has the good sense to look as shocked as Sandalphon feels. Then the gang mind takes over and there are three sets of hands on him, bringing him to the front of the ship.

“Alright, guys. I’d say that’s far enough.”

The voice runs through him like a sword made of ice. The Lowain brothers drop him onto his feet, though his legs feel like jelly beneath him. At the bow stands Belial. He’s dressed in his captain uniform, frustratingly impeccable as always. He has a sword slung over his shoulders.

It takes little courage for him to unsheathe his own.

“Wow,” Belial says. “Whipping it out in front of everyone? Especially Cifer? That takes balls, Sandy.”

Sandalphon jerks to the side. The crew of the _Avatar_ form a wall between them and the rest of the ship. There, standing slightly to the right, is Lucifer. Beautiful, unharmed Lucifer.

Then a sword is meeting his own in a clash of metal when Belial roars, “It’s not nice to look at someone else in the middle of a tête-à-tête!”

And just like that, they are dueling. Belial comes at him with a constant, unebbing force. It’s all Sandalphon can do to keep his footing, much less strike back. The crew cheer intermittently for both he and Belial, like this is just a practice round, like everything’s okay again. But it’s not.

Nothing is okay.

“-- you’re just going to let your lover get beaten down?” a demanding voice says. It’s feminine. It’s tipped like a white-hot poker at the edges. Sandalphon makes the mistake of looking away again.

It’s that red-haired woman he saw during the _Avatar_ ’s brief dock with the _Grandcypher_. She looks angry, and she’s jabbing angrily at Lucifer.

\-- Lucifer.

The blunt edge of a pommel comes up to greet his chest. It arrives with such force that the wind is blown out of his lungs. Sandalphon crumples to his knees, swaying, coughing up saliva and a little blood.

His eyes crest up to Belial. The cheers from the Lowain brothers make it hard to decipher anything. It feels like there’s a rope around his neck, constricting his breathing, his hearing.

Belial’s saying something like, “Welcome back.” Then he turns his head and says another something like, “Get the ropes.”

Lucifer rushes to his side. Sandalphon’s pretty sure of that. He feels a larger palm enclosing his own, his sword tumbling to his side, and his struggle with oxygen pushes him into the black.

* * *

There’s a formula for this.

Wake up in a gasp. Sit up. Try to move, find your arms are bound behind your back. Look around. The setting is topsy-turvy until your five senses turn on again. The air smells of sandalwood. You taste blood in the back of your mouth. You see a familiar room with a familiar bed. You hear the jovial voice of your captor welcoming you back into the waking world.

“Did you have a good rest, Sleeping Beauty?”

Sandalphon turns himself in spurts, all worth the effort so he can glare at Belial. The interruption in the clichéd set-up comes when another voice arrests him from the left. He feels the warm touch and sags before the words register. “Sandalphon. Are you all right?”

“... I’m fine,” Sandalphon says, tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. Lucifer stands back up and returns with a glass of water. He drinks greedily. It’s all worth the effort when Lucifer gives him a pleased smile.

Then, the slow trickle in of reality.

Sandalphon winces. “Wait. Why are you helping him, Lucifer? Untie me.”

Lucifer’s expression grows pained. “Sandalphon…”

“We’re in love,” Belial announces. It’s like a slap in the face with a fish. Sandalphon looks at the two of them, stunned. Belial tightens the noose when he comes over and takes Lucifer around the waist. “Sandy. Your new boyfriend has a good head on him. You never told me he was clever.”

“Lucifer,” Sandalphon rasps.

The worst part of all is that Lucifer doesn’t come out to deny it. He shifts uncomfortably between the dual attentions. “I love you dearly, Sandalphon.”

And oh, how Sandalphon’s spirit soars to hear it. They’ve spoken confessions, hurried in the dark. The elation comes from the brightness of the room, like Lucifer’s declaring himself in front of everyone.

Icarus flies too close to the sun. He plummets.

“I did not know the man you call your husband,” Lucifer continues. “He… Sandalphon. He greets me without judgement. He knows the terrible things I have done, and he…”

“You were hiding things from me?” interrupts Sandalphon. He wants to cry.

“... there was no easy way to tell you. For this, I am truly sorry, Sandalphon.”

“What was wrong with what we had?” Sandalphon murmurs. His voice cracks. “I came here to rescue you. I was going to depose him. All for you.”

“Take it from a guy who’s been around the block,” says Belial, nudging in where he is not welcome. “I know the ugly parts of both of you. And guess what? A family can be a man, his boyfriend, and his husband.”

Sandalphon stares him dead in the eyes. “We are not married. We are not a family.”

Belial winces. “Sarry is going to hate to hear that. He’s been waiting for you to come back, you know. He never stopped.”

His heart crushes under the weight of new guilt. He can’t be doing this. A three-way sucker punch conversation is not going to make him understand. Sandalphon rocks to his knees. “Untie me,” he demands.

“Are you going to play nice?”

“Fuck you,” he seethes.

“Then no.”

Sandalphon turns to Lucifer, his next mercy. “Say it’s all a lie,” tumbles out, instead of _please get these ropes off of me_.

Wilting, Lucifer can only shake his head.

So, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with yourself when you are captive on your last ship, being held by your husband, who claims he’s in love with the both of you?

He’s quite sure he’s about to shatter. Lucifer comes up to touch him, holding him together by his warmth alone. They exchange a longing glance.

“... fine,” he grits out, the loss heavy in his mouth. “What are you going to do with me? Bargain with the _Grandcypher_? They’ve already disavowed me from their crew.”

“That’s harsh,” Belial says without much sympathy. “What did you do to deserve that?”

Sandalphon sucks on a breath and then exhales it. “I said I was going to rescue Lucifer. Obviously.”

“And then…?” Belial prods. Sandalphon’s resulting silence appears convenient to him. His husband squawks when Belial picks him up and deposits him on the bed.

“Sandalphon. What happened?” Lucifer asks, two opposing forces clashing at once.

“I said…” Sandalphon utters. He struggles to right himself, to sit with his legs beneath him. He shuts his eyes. “I promised the Captain I would do whatever you needed me to do.”

Belial crows at the words, but his laughter becomes background noise when Lucifer takes him by the cheek. They share another long gaze.

“What do you want, Lucifer?” Sandalphon says, so desperate for purpose.

“I want to be with you,” comes the spring breeze of an answer. Then: “I want the three of us to be together.”

“He’s a liar,” Sandalphon argues, shaking his head. “He’ll break your heart.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Belial adds in. Sandalphon ignores him.

Lucifer sighs softly. “I have come to have feelings for him. They are different than the feelings I have for you, but… love takes many forms.”

“You love him?”

“... I love him.”

Sandalphon crumples again, unsure of himself. Belial joins him on his other side. “You said you were going to give Cifer what he wants. You heard the man. Are you ready?”

He is absolutely not ready. He and Belial have _years_ of issues to unpack. And living again with a pirate crew…

Belial sees his face twist and pats Sandalphon’s shoulder. “I’ve actually been living a pretty clean life. We got rid of most of the rabble rousers. We’re good pirates.”

“Hah,” laughs Sandalphon weakly.

“They have done me no harm,” Lucifer promises. “I wish… to remain with them. If you will be at my side.”

And what man could possibly deny Lucifer? Sandalphon takes one good look at his soft face, notes of unconscious pleading bubbling to the surface, and he knows he’s doomed.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Fine. But this isn’t over.” He glares at Belial.

Belial pinches his cheek. “I know you love me.”

The worst part? He’s right.

Actually. The worst part begins when Belial peels out of his coat and his shirt. “Let’s get this party started.” It’s even worse when Lucifer nods and begins to strip, slow and methodical.

“What are you doing,” Sandalphon says in a high-pitched voice.

Smirking, Belial responds: “We’re doing the three-body tango, that’s what. Two’s a pair. Three’s a party.”

“You _planned_ this?”

Belial doesn’t answer him. He sweeps himself over to Lucifer, undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Along the way, he kisses down Lucifer’s chest. Lucifer’s voice opens in a show of pleasure. Sandalphon squirms, primed for desire by the sight alone.

Lucifer and Belial’s lips meet in an affectionate kiss when the shirt comes off. It’s cast aside like flotsam. Then, Lucifer turns to Sandalphon. Belial makes himself busy, preparing… oils… or devices to use on him. Maybe they’ll torture him.

“I always,” Lucifer says, “hoped you would come back for me.” He’s so genuine that Sandalphon can’t even think he’s playing a trick. That’s not the kind of man Lucifer is. “May I touch you?”

This is insane. Parts of Sandalphon’s brain are shutting down, short-circuiting. The neurons piloting his body, however, know to give an eager nod.

Lucifer strokes his fingers up Sandalphon’s front. He unbuttons the shirt. He finds the beige-coloured binder beneath, admiring the synthetic material. “This is…”

Sandalphon goes red and turns his head. “I’m not--”

“You’re a man, Sandy,” Belial calls from across the room. “Whether you’re dressed up or totally naked.”

“Thanks,” he says. He means to sound spiteful. It just comes out as lamely accepting.

The binder can’t come off without cutting it open, and Sandalphon shakes his head in angry rejection at the idea. Instead, it rucks up to the area of his sternum, present but not as constricting.

He looks down and Lucifer is admiring his chest with unadulterated love. If he wasn’t red before, he is now.

Lucifer applies himself to Sandalphon’s chest, licking and biting at his nipples. Sandalphon squirms. Soft sounds begin to spill out from his lips. This isn’t how he wanted their first time to go-- but--

He whines and Lucifer’s pupils go dark and wide. Lucifer slides a hand between his legs, pausing before he makes contact. “Is this okay?” he presses.

“Please,” Sandalphon begs. That is enough.

Lucifer rubs against him, creating friction between his legs. Sandalphon is already more than wet. Lucifer makes a comment about this, but it goes in one ear and out the other. He’s focused on rutting himself against Lucifer’s palm as fast as possible.

“Hold your horses,” Belial cautions, appearing at his right. “You didn’t forget lil’ ol’ me, did you?”

“Fuck off,” Sandalphon moans.

“Ooh, I like that. Call me Daddy.”

“Fuck _you_.”

“Come here, Sandy,” Belial coos. He grips Sandalphon’s neck and pulls him backwards into a kiss. It’s a fighting kind of kiss. It’s an unresolved issues kiss. It’s a ‘fuck you, I still love you’ kind of kiss. “Do you want this?”

“I want you to die--”

“Do you want this?” repeats Belial, fingering his belt.

Lucifer sits in front of him. Belial is right behind. Sandalphon is overwhelmed by their sensations.

“Yes,” he croaks, and it rattles bone-deep. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“Love you, darling,” Belial croons, kissing him again. “We’ll keep the ropes on just this one time.”

“Wait--” Sandalphon is overcome by the urge to touch Lucifer.

“Cifer,” Belial says over him, “Wanna eat him out?”

“... I’m not following,” Lucifer says, a quizzical tilt to his head.

Without further ado, Belial shimmies Sandalphon out of his tights, then his underwear. With the long-standing patience of someone who has explained many things, many times, he says, “Lick him. There.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah?”

“... oh.”

Belial grins. Sandalphon wants to argue about how they’re not giving him much of a say in this process. Then Belial is kissing him again. He makes angry, aroused noises into his mouth.

Lucifer needs little prodding to begin. Sandalphon feels two fingers stretch his entrance open, and then a tongue darts inside.

He keens. He arches his back and throws his legs wide open, pushing Lucifer back.

Hesitantly, Lucifer asks, “Was that bad?”

Belial shakes his head. Sandalphon shakes his head even harder. “Do it again,” Sandalphon orders.

Carefully, Lucifer braces his hands on Sandalphon’s thighs and pushes his tongue in again. It explores the labia, the skin outside, the clitoris. He is methodical in his journey. Sandalphon begins to sing prayers to whatever god is up above.

Then, lube-slick fingers begin to prod at his ass.

“Wait your turn,” he snaps at Belial, but in this needy kind of way. It pulls all the authority out of him.

“No can do, Sandy. I’ve been waiting for years.”

Fingers nudge into his ass. At the same time, Lucifer’s tongue descends deep inside him. The loud noise that springs from Sandalphon surprises even himself. If the world is going crazy, though-- why not scream and shout?

“That’s a good boy. Do you feel it?” Belial urges, rolling his hips into the bed. “Do you feel how much I want you? Can you feel how starved Lucifer is for you?”

Lucifer pulls back when he needs a breath. But he dives right back in. Sandalphon wants to see his face. He whines until Lucifer glances up at him.

“The both of us were waiting for you. I knew you’d come back,” continues Belial. His breath is hot against Sandalphon’s neck while he begins to leave hickeys. “Three years. I didn’t take a single lover. I spent every night thinking about you.”

“Obsessed much,” Sandalphon says, without venom. Belial laughs.

“Yeah. I’m obsessed with you. And I’m obsessed with Cifer, too. He’s making a place in my heart.”

“You… ah-- you still have one of those?”

“You’re so cruel, Sandy! I love you.”

The fingers circle inside of him and pry him open. Sandalphon pants, staring at the painting on the wall. It depicts the green-light sunset he described to Belial, once upon a time. He vaguely wonders if he had it commissioned.

“Do you love me?” Belial insists, thrusting his fingers in and out. He sets a discordant rhythm with the movements of Lucifer’s tongue. “Do you love Lucifer? Say it, Sandy.”

His other hand gives a hard jerk of Sandalphon’s hair, pulling his head back, fully exposing his neck. Belial starts to nip at him. Sandalphon really is going to scream.

“I love Lucifer,” he announces, rewarded with soft fingers that ply at the front of him, too. He yelps when Belial bites particularly hard, then licks the hickey as if in apology. “I-- I love you, Belial. Bastard.”

“That’s right. I’m yours truly. The one and only bastard you need in your life. Cifer?”

Lucifer pulls away from Sandalphon’s thighs. He quivers with the loss. “Yes?”

“Back or front?”

Lucifer’s brow furrows. “I’m afraid I do not follow--”

“Where do you want to stick it in?”

A light appears on Lucifer’s face as he comes to understand.

“Front,” Sandalphon begs. He meets Lucifer’s eyes and holds his gaze. “I want to see you. I want to watch you while you’re inside of me.” He thinks he makes a very good case for himself, considering the new wrinkle in Lucifer’s brow.

But it is not to be. Lucifer shakes his head. “The husband should have first choice. I will take the back.” He speaks like the words are foreign on his tongue. Dirty talk doesn’t suit him.

So they swap positions. Sandalphon’s back briefly meets the sheets while Lucifer and Belial collide. Sandalphon gets to see Lucifer nudge Belial into a shy kiss, soon taken over by the sheer, dominating power that Belial radiates. He is flushed and panting when Belial pulls away. And Belial, with a swagger to his hips, comes to settle himself in between Sandalphon’s legs.

Sandalphon is pulled forward, and he feels the comforting warmth of Lucifer at his back. Lucifer’s arms encircle his chest, playing with his nipples, smiling when he squirms.

“Aren’t you a slut?” Belial laughs, spreading his fingers down Sandalphon’s navel. He settles them on Sandalphon’s thighs, bringing one to his lips, kissing it. “I always loved this part of you.”

“Who’s the slut--”

“What is a slut?” Lucifer asks.

Sandalphon doesn’t want Lucifer _anywhere_ near the word. But if this is to be their new configuration, Lucifer’s pure mind isn’t going to stay pure for long. “It’s,” Belial begins, “a man who wants his lovers so bad that he’d do anything to get fucked by them. He makes all sorts of noises. He’s the most sensitive person you’ll ever meet.”

After a pause, Sandalphon feels the fall of Lucifer’s hair brush his shoulder as he nods. “That seems an apt description of Sandalphon.”

He doesn’t have time to be mortified. The most he can do is inhale and swallow a breath when Belial unbuckles his belt, revealing his cock. It’s red and it’s hard. Belial takes a hand to it, manoeuvering himself to circle the head around Sandalphon’s entrance. “You too, Cifer!”

He has an inkling of what’s going to happen. Horror creeps on his face. “Wait--”

Lucifer’s own cock nudges at his rear. He feels blessed. Thankful. Honoured. Then it begins to penetrate him and the happy thoughts are dismissed by pain. He hisses, and Lucifer immediately stills.

“Don’t just sit there,” Sandalphon grits out. “All the way.”

Another quiet nod of the head and then Lucifer is bottoming out inside of him. Lucifer groans. Sandalphon whines. Belial, drinking in the sight of the two of them, moans. Lucifer has the good sense to wait, to crane Sandalphon’s head back into many kisses as apology for the pain.

It does no good when Belial slides into him, one smooth, experienced motion. Sandalphon cries out into Lucifer’s mouth.

“Bastard,” he scowls when the two of them pull away. Belial is grinning from ear-to-ear. “Bastard. Fuck you. Die in a ditch. I hate you.”

“You love me,” Belial reminds, and he begins to rock. He does not wait. Sandalphon’s arms scrabble at his chest before settling on Belial’s back. Already, his nails begin to dig in. The experience of two men inside of him is too much.

Belial and Sandalphon meet in that old rhythm that their bodies never truly forgot. Sandalphon arches; Belial kisses him. Belial pulls out and Sandalphon holds his breath when Belial slams back in. What’s new is the panting behind them, and the weight, the girth he feels being brushed against every time Belial angles himself just right.

“You too,” he sobs. “You too. Lucifer. Luci--” His voice is drowned out when Belial pounds him with a fervour.

Lucifer continues to hesitate. “Are you sure, Sandalphon?”

Sandalphon cannot communicate how much he wants it. He snags and bites at Lucifer’s lips until the message gets delivered. Then--

Then, he’s broken in two.

Lucifer and Belial can’t maintain a rhythm to save their lives. When one is pushing in, the other’s going out. When the other’s pulling out, the first one is slamming in. Lucifer’s soft in his movements, but Belial’s speed makes every thrust sharp, leaving him aching. It’s painful, despite the stretching. Even with his own wetness, he feels filled to the very brim.

“Having a good time?” Belial asks, because he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

Sandalphon digs his nails in such that he’s sure to leave trails of blood across Belial’s back. Then he throws himself back into Lucifer’s embrace, leaning back into those strong arms, wailing incoherent nonsense. He hears himself say the word _love_ . Other words filter into his consciousness: _want; need; please, please, please_. He’s begging. He’s throwing himself at Belial’s feet and Lucifer’s mercy.

And they deliver. They find their rhythm. Their thrusts come in near-tandem. Sandalphon sobs with each one. Overhead, Belial and Lucifer share a pleased kiss. Belial’s throat hums deep with the sound of satisfaction. Sandalphon can see his Adam’s apple bob with pleasure.

“I’m close,” Belial says, almost like he’s commenting on the weather. Sandalphon’s eyes snap open. He’s not sure when he shut them.

“Don’t,” he cries. “Not inside.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Belial answers, taking his face in his hands and kissing him. It’s a tender thing that sends Sandalphon’s mind reeling. Then comes the evil grin while Belial forces his full weight into Sandalphon, pushing himself into the very depths. “You want it all over your face, don’t you? Or maybe your chest? Tell me which one. Beg me for it.”

“Face,” Sandalphon stammers. “Don’t--”

“Where’re your manners? You’re speaking to your Captain,” Belial says, and grunts when his pleasure starts to unfold.

“ _Please_.”

Sandalphon hates himself for giving in so easily. He hates himself for being pliant. But he feels a part of him missing when Belial pulls out, lustful when Belial starts to pump his cock in frantic timing.

The push and pull of Lucifer’s body continues. Sandalphon leans back into him, letting the quiet lover take care of him.

“Are you ready for me?” Belial asks.

“Yesssss.”

“Cifer?”

Lucifer doesn’t answer with words, but he stills. Sandalphon catches a glimpse of him. He is sweaty, ragged, high with energy and control, eyes focused on the sight of Belial’s cock.

Belial laughs. “Good enough. Here it comes!”

He announces himself like a hero, but it’s several seconds still before that telltale moan rakes out from behind his lips. Sandalphon blinks, and then he shuts his eyes when hot spurts of cum decorate his brow, his nose, his chin. Some of it splashes against his lips. He doesn’t open his eyes again until Belial is giving soft, satisfied noises, stroking the last of himself out against Sandalphon’s thighs.

Belial stops and stares when Sandalphon takes a thumb, rakes the cum off his lip, and licks it clean. He settles back onto the sheets, chest-first, putting his chin into his hand. “You’re so sexy, Sandy.”

Sandalphon grins. “I know.”

Behind him, Lucifer makes an impatient sound. His carefully pulled-together control is unraveling.

Sandalphon looks over his shoulder, seeing Belial nod out of his peripheral. “Take me,” he commands.

Lucifer needs no further instruction.

Pushing Sandalphon face-first into the sheets, he unleashes himself. His thrusts are fast and demanding. Sandalphon pushes his face out of the linen, sucking in breaths through his mouth as quick as they will come. “Lucifer,” he sighs. “Lucifer!” he cries. Lucifer only goes faster with the insistence.

Belial comes to hover over the pair of them as they fuck like their lives depend on it. The smug curve of his mouth says enough: he’s enjoying the show. He interrupts Lucifer to kiss him, throwing his pace off and making Sandalphon cry out. He reaches across Sandalphon’s back and kisses the skin there, kisses the skin everywhere, continuing to litter hickeys in places Sandalphon will never be able to see.

“I--” Lucifer begins.

“Are you close?” Sandalphon gasps. There’s a movement behind his head. “Are you close?” he repeats.

“Oh, he’s close,” Belial laughs. “Cifer, don’t be shy. Let it all out. We’re waiting for you.”

Lucifer murmurs something dark beneath his breath, and he sets on Sandalphon with raw, deep thrusts. Sandalphon can no longer keep up. Belial flits between the two of them, offering kisses and dirty words and all the encouragement they could ever need in their lives. Belial undoes the bindings on his wrists, freeing his chafed skin.

Sandalphon erupts before Lucifer. He cums with a high, airy cry, tightening around Lucifer and eliciting a grunt in return. Belial plunges fingers inside of him to feel the thick cum pooling inside of him. “That’s good,” Belial mutters. “That’s real good.”

But where Sandalphon finds his finish, Lucifer is not far behind. Sandalphon chants differing cries of ‘please’ over and over until his voice is raw and he has to stop. Belial takes up his call, hands on Lucifer’s shoulders, whispering into his ear how desperately Sandalphon needs to be filled.

What a joy to have Lucifer’s deep cry ring through his body, take his physicality by storm. Sandalphon feels the hot flood press inside of him when Lucifer’s hips still and he remains seated inside. Belial’s praising the both of them, but the words don’t filter in. All he knows is the _feeling_ of Lucifer, the _essence_ of him, mixed with the sharp tang of Belial’s being that come to encircle him whole.

“-- for another round?” Belial is saying when his ears turn back on. Sandalphon’s rolled over, chest heaving with the need for air.

“I don’t think that is advisable,” Lucifer says in a mellow sort of way. Belial gives him a hard clap on the back.

“Say what you really mean, Cifer!”

“... I want to,” confesses Lucifer, “but Sandalphon needs his rest. Do you have a towel?”

Belial strolls to the other side of the room, opens some drawers, then throws Lucifer the article he’s asking for. Sandalphon groans when the soft material eases between his thighs, across his back, towelling off the body fluids he’s soaked in.

Lucifer thereafter takes care of himself. He beckons Belial forward, who, with some reluctance, allows himself to be cleaned.

“A bath would be faster,” he remarks, frowning. “And I could touch you all I wanted.”

“The time for touch is over,” Lucifer declares, like a guardian against the impure. Belial whistles. Lucifer comes to cradle Sandalphon in his arms. Sandalphon curls into him.

Then Belial’s on his other side, putting a hand on his hip. It’s almost stifling, but there’s just enough distance for him to breathe.

“This was really your first time together?” Belial says over his head. He sounds sceptical.

“We never touched. Not like this,” Sandalphon answers, speaking for himself. His voice is scratchy, misused and abused.

“Have you ever touched _anyone_ , Cifer?”

“Not like this,” repeats Lucifer.

“So your first time is a threesome with two husbands. Lucky guy,” Belial laughs.

The mention of their marriage makes Sandalphon study his hands, his bare ring finger. A part of him he shut out long ago opens up again. It fills him with regret at what he sees.

Belial is fluent in gauging his moods. He presses a kiss to Sandalphon’s cheek. “We’ll get you a new one. You’re staying, right?”

Sandalphon scoffs lightly. “Where else can I go?”

“If you don’t wish to stay, we could deliver you to a port,” Lucifer says. Kind, patient Lucifer.

The soft pitter-patter above their heads signals the coming of rain. It arrives suddenly, in a downpour. Perhaps it is a hint from the skies that they should be sorrowful.

Sandalphon feels anything but.

“You and I,” he says to Belial, “have a lot to figure out. But…” His eyes slide to Lucifer. “If it’s the two of you together with me, it’s different.”

Lucifer nods, like he understands. “Love with three people is much different than love of two.”

“It’s also much kinkier.”

Belial gives an unapologetic shrug at Sandalphon’s glare. They begin to settle into silence. There is much to be discussed. There are open wounds that need stitching. Yet, Sandalphon no longer wants to flee. Lucifer and Belial wish to be by his side.

“Lucifer,” he says. Lucifer leans his head on Sandalphon’s shoulder to show he is listening. “Do you remember, a long time ago, about how you thought angels were inside of rain? How they brought heaven down with them into the sea?”

“I remember,” Lucifer replies. He sounds a little embarrassed.

“You thought that’s what made the sky blue. But…”

Sandalphon spreads out, putting an arm on both of his lovers. Belial watches him coolly, a hint of affection in his gaze. Lucifer observes him with rapt action.

“Rain makes the ocean blue, not the sky. It means the seadoms are heaven brought down from the skies.” In the ensuing silence, he turns a ripe pink. “Probably.”

Within the moment, Lucifer nods his assent. “I like your idea very much.”

“Sounds pretty philosophical. Fill me in on the details when we’re awake,” Belial chimes in.

Sandalphon gives him a half-hearted punch to the shoulder. Belial rolls him up in his arms. Lucifer comes hither, following their path, never leaving their side.

A paradise lost could be a husband regained.

A husband regained could be two husbands found.

His brain is silly with dopamine and post-coital chemicals. He knows that. Yet Sandalphon allows himself one moment to dream. The bones that shape the shells of the two concepts he has come to love. His base hatred shivers in the rain and shatters like glass roots for plants that never had a chance.

The sea is blue with firmament.


End file.
